Severed Strings
by Vykktor
Summary: The rebellion has been sepulchered, the girl on fire burned at the stake, and the Hunger Games are as strong as ever. 24 tributes head into the arena with varying amounts of readiness and training. Some strategies will lead them straight to death's gaping maw, while others will manage to survive (for awhile). Eventually, one will rise above the rest in The 88th Annual Hunger Games.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer- I do not own anything involving the Hunger Games, all rights are reserved to Suzanne Collins.**

Ah, how time flies in the years after crushing a rebellion. To think, it's already been fourteen years since the Rebellion of the Mockingjay. That was too close of a call, that uprising. The Hunger Games were nearly destroyed, and we lost the strongest politician Panem has ever seen: Coriolanus Snow, my uncle. The man was absolutely brilliant. If only he'd had the capabilities to crush a hostile organization without dying in the process.

It hasn't been easy, running the Capitol after the Revolt of the Mockingjay, as people have come to call it. The first couple of years were brutal, and having to rebuild Districts 11 and 12 was quite a pain, as was stamping out the last embers of the fire started by the one who started everything. Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire. That title turned out to be quite ironic, seeing as she burned at the stake for her crimes. Perhaps it was for the best that the revolt had so nearly succeeded. To see victory so close, and then have it be snatched away by me at the last moment was just what we needed to quench the flames of rebellion.

I swivel around in my chair and look at my computer. The Head Gamemaker has finally sent me the file on the new muttation for this year's Hunger Games. Good, I had been waiting for a while. This should prove an interesting spectacle for the people of the Capitol. The man is lucky that I'm a patient person, otherwise his life would be forfeit; the file was due yesterday. I stand up and look at myself in the mirror. I'm not exactly what most would call a looker. My hair is shoulder-length and blood-red. I'm also not the most portly of people, standing 6'6" and weighing only 143 pounds. My complexion is white. I am not pale; this implies that my skin is capable of retaining a darker quality. My skin is paper white. My eyes haven't the slightest amount of color unless I'm in a particularly sore mood, in which the irises go an icy blue.

There's a knock at my door and my eyes do exactly that. I pick a red rose from the vase next to the mirror. I must admire my late uncle Coriolanus on his choice of flower. The rose: elegant, yet able to draw blood if not paid attention to. I personally prefer the red rose over the white. Red is the color of blood. I glide over to my desk and press a button, opening the door.

"President Brent." It's my secretary, Ben Mosely. "It's the Head Gamemaker, Riteus Quinn. He wishes to have an audience with you."

I walk around my desk and sit down. "Then might I ask why he hasn't included this in the file he just sent me?" I ask without looking at Mosely. Instead I am looking at the grain of the cherry my desk is made of, my elbows propped and my fingers tented. "Tell him his request is granted and that he is to be in my office in eight minutes."

"Well, that's just it, sir. He wants you to come to Colony Nine."

My head snaps up and I stare Mosely directly in the eyes. He's a thin man with darker skin. His eyeglasses are small, round, and dark, and there isn't a hair on his head. He wears the same olive suit and cranberry tie every day with the same old cream-colored shirt. He recoils as soon as I look at him. "The fool turns in his file a day late, which is incredibly risky. Now he has the audacity to request that I travel to District Nine for an audience he requested? This man doesn't value his life very much, obviously." I stand up and look at Mosely straight through his glasses. He has good reason to be afraid. The secretary before him made the mistake of opening my door unannounced. If there is one thing I cannot stand, it is people who don't mind their manners. In short, the ground beneath my window smelled something awful for a couple of days. "He had better have a damn good reason why he's calling me, Locius Brent, the President of Panem, out to District Nine a week before the Hunger Games!"

Mosely swallows and says "I believe it has to do with the muttation he's working on, Mr. President."

"You believe, or you know? Choose your next words carefully; I don't want to go through the trouble of getting another new window."

"I believe, sir. He wouldn't tell me anything else; he just said he wishes to have an audience with you. That and the muttations aren't ready for transport."

I sit down again and swivel around to face the window. "You said he didn't tell you anything else. You then went on to say that the muttations aren't ready for transport." I swivel back around to see Mosely with a terrified look on his face. I stand and say, "You are incredibly lucky that window cost me a hefty sum to replace. As for Quinn, tell him that if this muttation doesn't completely amaze me, this will be his last Games. I want to be on a train headed for Nine in eighty minutes."

Mosely bows, utters out a quick "Yes Sir", and stumbles out the door. I lazily press the button on my desk, closing the door and leaving my room in a dark lighting. I sigh and rub my temples. I cannot believe how soft I'm getting. I take a tiny scalpel out of a compartment in my desk and knick my finger. I take a drop of blood onto the scalpel and deposit it on a scanner. I put my finger in my mouth and suckle it, drawing out the excess blood. The coppery taste is wonderful. The scanner buzzes and reads: Blood Alcohol Content: .007. Good, I can afford a drink. I tap a few buttons on the dashboard on the left side of the desk, and immediately a glass of brandy rises up from inside my desk.

I take my drink in hand and swirl it around a bit. I take a sip and press a button next to the door opener. Two Peacekeepers come in immediately. "Escort me to the train," I command, and they follow my orders exactly.

Playing the puppeteer of this country is ever so enjoyable.


	2. District One: A Tigress in Chains

**District One: Freyja Alahael**

I spin around and am about to drive my dagger into the neck of the dummy in front of me when a sword blocks my way. The person wielding the sword is a good four inches taller than me and about forty pounds heavier, as well as eleven years older. His sandy blond hair is cut short and his sky-blue eyes are looking directly into mine. "Raymin!" I shout indignantly. "I could've easily killed that one! Why did you stop me?"

Raymin lowers his sword. "Because," he looks at me, clearly annoyed, "That dummy is your district partner. You know, the one you're _defending_ in this exercise? He's your last ally and there are five more tributes. This scenario was to test how well you can defend an ally from oncoming slaughter. I don't know what's going on in your head, but slitting the jugular of your ally doesn't sound like defending him to me."

As irksome as the rebuke is, Raymin has a point. I don't commonly distinguish friend from foe. "It doesn't matter how many tributes were left. I would've slaughtered them easily," I say with confidence.

"Oh really," Raymin asks, cocking an eyebrow. "Tell them that, Freyja." He walks towards the wall and presses a button. Immediately, five dummies pop out. Two are armed with swords, one with a spear, one with a hammer, and the last stands off to the side with a sling. I get into a ready stance, daggers poised. Suddenly, the lights turn on and the dummies stop advancing.

I whirl around and look at my trainer. "What is it now?" I demand, quite frustrated.

He walks up to me and holds out his hand. "Give me the daggers."

"What? No! Why should I, they're my best weapon!"

He ignores me, takes the daggers, and hands me his sword and buckler. "You are too dependent on your daggers. The more weapons you know how to use, the better."

I look at the buckler in my right hand and the sword in my left. It's a rapier: light, swift, good for stabbing. I'm just fine with the rapier itself, but the buckler is a piece of trouble. It's hardly even a shield. The best I could do with it is throw it at one of the dummies, or possibly hit one in the jaw. My thoughts are interrupted by the lights turning off, and I see Raymin pressing the button to activate the dummies once more. "I am not enjoying this!" I shout.

"Good," he shouts back in response. "Less talk, more fighting."

I turn my attention back to the dummies. The one with the spear is 'charging' me, which could also be described as waddling towards me with a spear flailing haphazardly in all directions, so I dodge to the right. It keeps going, and I stab it in the side. I follow up with a punch to the temple with the buckler, toppling the first dummy. As soon as I do it however, I regret it. By stretching my arm out that far, it leaves my right side open to attack. A stone from the dummy with the sling connects with my elbow, and I lose all feeling in it; the stone hit my funny bone.

"That was sloppy!" Raymin chides me.

"Shut up!" I yell back.

While I wait for my right arm to respond, I dodge to the left to avoid a blow from the dummy with the hammer, and slam my shoulder into one of the dummies wielding a sword, knocking it down. I stab it quickly in the head, leaving one swordsman (dummy?), one with a hammer, and one with a sling. I raise my right arm to block another blow from the hammer and it glances off the buckler. I stab the dummy in the eye with the rapier and turn around, finding myself face to face with the other dummy with a sword. It slashes down at my left shoulder and I parry it. I'm about to engage in demolishing the dummy but am interrupted by another stone from the slinger, this one hitting my ankle. I parry another slash from the dummy with the sword and surge towards the slinger. It throws another stone and I bounce it off the buckler, following with a slash to its sling and then a stab to the heart. One more dummy to go, and I'm done.

"Hold it!" Raymin turns everything off and I glare at him again. "I think this one needs something extra," he says. Raymin walks over to a sword rack and pulls out a broadsword. He walks over to the dummy and slides it into the frog at the dummy's side. "You have to first disarm the dummy and then fight it while it wields the broadsword. I can't have this be too easy now, can I?" He smiles.

I throw a sarcastic, overdone smile back at him. He activates the dummy again, and I charge it. It tries the same slash to my left shoulder, which I parry for the third time. I smash the hilt against the underside of the dummy's wrist. This would've worked against Raymin or any other human fighter, but dummies don't feel pain, so the sword remains in its hand. I furrow my brow and jump backwards to avoid a stab, then roll off to my right. I try hitting the back of its knee with the buckler, but the dummy's left hand swipes mine away. This, however, was just what I wanted. The dummy's right hand is exposed, so I deliver a slice to its wrist. This gets the sword to drop out of its hands, but now the real fun begins.

I wait for the dummy to draw the broadsword, and as soon as it does, I take a stab at the thing's eye. Bad idea. The dummy swipes my rapier away with the broadsword, bending it badly. I toss the weapon away, now left with only this stupid buckler. If training dummies could grin, this one would be beaming. It tries to stab me in the stomach and I smack away the weapon with my buckler while dodging to the left. It brings the sword back at me in a horizontal motion, intent on slicing me in two. I hurdle over the arm of the dummy and kick down with both feet on its arm, causing it to drop the broadsword. I quickly snatch it up. It's an awkward weapon for a person with as small of hands as me; my fingers don't even go all the way around the hilt. Nevertheless, I utter a battle cry and slash through the dummy, all the way from the left should to the right hip. I stab the dummy in the chest as it lies on the ground and leave the sword stuck there as I swagger towards my trainer.

Raymin turns on the light. "Not your best time, but an interesting solution with the broadsword. I thought you said you were horrible with the buckler."

"I never said that, I just said I didn't like using it. Now show me my time." He shows me his wristwatch and I see 4:12:07. "Come on," I protest. "I did not take that long!"

Raymin looks at his watch. His face is puzzled, and then he laughs. "Oh, sorry, no, that was your time for the previous exercise." He turns a dial on his watch. "This is your time for this exercise." He turns his watch towards me again.

"5:01:83? What? That's impossible!"

"Nope, not impossible, just disappointing."

"Ugh! Not liking you right now!"

Raymin smiles again. "Not caring right now." I slug him in the arm. "Ow! Okay, okay. One more personal bout, and then we're done for the day."

I smile; the last personal bout is always the best. We choose from a random selection of all the weapons in the training center. They're all in cases, so it's impossible to know what you are getting until you do. I go first, and I choose the smallest case in hopes of getting a dagger. No such luck; I get finger talons. I'm not that bad with finger talons, but they don't have a very good reach. Raymin chooses a bigger, square box. He pulls out three rods, one with a spear tip on it. He connects them together, forming a dory, the primary weapon of the ancient Greek hoplite. I laugh at the irony of this; Raymin's last name is Hoplite, but he has very little skill with spears.

We walk into the center of the room, and Raymin readies his spear. I charge at his left, only to fall and go into a slide, avoiding the wide sweep of the dory intent on knocking me down. I get up and Raymin pulls off the end of the dory, making it considerably smaller. He switches it over to his right hand and grins. He stabs at me and I dodge to the right this time. Trying to get closer, I hold out my left hand and grab the dory as Raymin tries to hit me in the side. He wrenches it out of my hand, puts his left hand right behind the spearhead, and hits my forehead with the shaft. I reel back and barely have time to dodge another thrust from the dory. I go left and Raymin moves his dory left. I try grabbing it again, but he moves it out of the way. Raymin delivers a crack to my side and pushes me down with his free hand. I try to get up, but there's a spearhead two inches from my face.

"And, cannon fire." Raymin helps me up off the floor. "That's it for today. No hanging around here either, it's already 9:45."

I glance at the clock and see that there's only an hour and fifteen minutes until the reapings. I pick up my training bag and put my daggers in it. I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out the door of the training center. It's convenient that my house is only two blocks away from the center, but sometimes I wish it was a bit further. I enjoy a nice jog, and it's difficult for one to last long when one's destination is so close.

I open the door and drop the training bag on the chair next to the door. As I walk past the kitchen I see my mom, Charity, cooking at the stove and my dad, Skylark, munching on some toast. I go upstairs and head into the bathroom. I turn on the water and step into the shower.

Raymin always tells me "Don't think, just act." I usually follow his instructions because thinking on the battlefield leads to hesitation. In the shower, however, there isn't anything to battle. It's just you and the water. My thoughts turn to my parents. My dad's stubbornness has caused him not to forgive me for breaking the urn above the mantle when I was four, containing my grandmother's sister's ashes. She basically served as my dad's mom because my grandmother would always be off chasing the handsomest, richest people in the District. When my grandmother was eighteen, she had my father. She tossed my dad to the road like a broken microwave for fear that a baby would turn the rick people of District One off to her, so it's a miracle that her sister took it upon herself to care for my dad.

I don't know what events transpired, they were obviously serious enough to make her volunteer for the Hunger Games four years after she started taking care of my dad. She was twelve when she volunteered. She managed to get to the final eight and was killed shortly after by the tributes from District Seven. One of them, the girl, eventually went on to win that particular Game.

My mom tries to hide it, but she doesn't want me to volunteer for the Hunger Games this year, even though it's the last year I can. I almost feel sorry for the younger kids in my district that have to wait to volunteer now that the President announced that new rule. Two years ago, four of the volunteers from the so-called 'Career districts' didn't know an axe from an awl, and as a result, all four of them died in the bloodbath. The boy from District 2 won anyway that year, but it was still incredibly embarrassing. After that year, volunteers from Districts 1, 2, and 4 had to be at least fifteen years of age. My mom doesn't want me to go because she doesn't want me to come home in a box, to which comment I take great offense. I am perfectly capable of winning the Hunger Games. I have trained since the age of eight and I don't plan on having that training be for nothing.

I turn off the water, step out of the shower and dry myself off. I look at the bathroom clock and see that there's only a half an hour until the reaping. Crap. I rush into my room, pick out a deep cobalt dress with a strap going over my right shoulder and head back into the bathroom where I apply my makeup. You have to look good if you want sponsors. I hurry downstairs, down a glass of milk, and am about ready to head out to the town square when my mom clears her throat. I turn around.

"Yes, mother?" I ask. Her eyes are puffy and red.

"Honey, I-I just don't think th-that volunteered is a good idea. We are perfectly proud of you just as you are. Aren't we Sky?" She looks at my dad and he peers up from his paper.

"Huh? Wha-oh, oh yeah. Proud, right."

Of course. Not even paying attention as his daughter goes out to volunteer for something his wife is sure that she's going to fail at. That's encouraging. "Sure, Mom, I can tell that both of you are extremely proud of me, especially by the way that you, Mom, are constantly telling me not to train for something like the Hunger Games because you're afraid of something going wrong." My words sting, but I don't care. I'm going to win, and they're going to like it.

I step outside and start heading towards the town square. Not two minutes behind are my two friends, Veronica and Shine. None of us look anything alike. I'm the shortest at 5'2", Shine's in the middle at 5'6", and Veronica is the tallest at 5'8". My figure is slender, Veronica is slightly more curvaceous, but Shine is by far the curviest of the three of us. Her hair is a dark brown, as is Veronica's, whereas mine is your classic blonde. Not dirty blonde, not bleach blonde, not strawberry blonde, just, well, blonde. I'm the serious one out of us all, and I'm the only one who prepares for the Games. Veronica is very shy; she hides behind her hair most of the time. Shine, on the other hand, is very much an extrovert. She loves being with people, flirting with boys, you know. She's the gossip of the group.

They badger me about how training went; mostly asking questions about my trainer, Raymin, of whom they both think is "incredibly hot". I agree with them in that aspect, but I have never found myself very attracted to him. Maybe that's because he's constantly brandishing some sort of weapon over my head; or because he's 29.

We reach the town square, and I head over to the eighteen-year-olds' section with Shine while Veronica heads over to the seventeen-year-olds' section. The district escort, Cale Meksilian, struts onto the stage, and I groan. He looks even more hideous than usual. He seems to have recently discovered that his name is also a type of vegetable, so he has taken every possible measure to make himself look like one. His hair is slicked back and purple in the front, but it eventually turns green in the back. The ends of his hair are flourished like kale, and the rest of his skin is dyed a pale green. His suit is green as well, with pale purple pants and rich purple shoes. He says a few words about how happy he is to be back in District One and then hands off the microphone to our mayor, a muscular man named Gaston Marquis, whose ancestors were said to come from some old country over on the other side of the ocean. _Oh, joyous me, _I think to myself, _w__e get to hear the same speech as last year, how absolutely dull._

"You'd think he'd be able to at least try to look interested," said Shine, rolling her eyes. I nod my head and look over at the mayor, and sure enough, his mind is elsewhere, and he's the one giving the speech. The lone exception is the district escort, who's actually quite bubbly and looks to be enjoying Gaston's speech. What a bumbling idiot.

Finally the mayor finishes his speech and retires to his chair. Cale Meksilian takes the microphone and excitedly yells, "What a wonderful speech, Mayor Marquis!" He walks towards the bowls, and I shiver with anticipation. "Now then, let's see who our female tribute is this year, hmm?" He reaches in, and I chuckle at the irony. Whoever's name is picked in this district is guaranteed to have somebody volunteer in their place, so people's thoughts are flip-flopped. Those who desire to enter hope that their name isn't drawn, and those who want to stay here hope to actually hear their name.

I'm actually surprised at myself for not realizing this sooner, for it was only last year that my name was chosen. If I'd have realized that then, I probably wouldn't have been as delighted. I still remember how proud I was to be walking up that stage, only to have that imbecile, Spydria Lowbody, volunteer to take my place. She died three days before the Victor, Kalemer Courteous, a lucky boy from District Six, was crowned. I watch Cale pull out a slip of paper. He's taking ever so long, smothering out the creases so he can 'read it better'.

"Topaz Hamen!" he yells triumphantly.

Equally as triumphantly, I yell "I volunteer!" Shine looks at me, a bit puzzled, like she didn't really think I was going to volunteer. Guess who was wrong on that one. I stride confidently up to the stage and plant myself firmly next to Cale, who promptly rams into me on his way to the boy's bowl. I fumble a bit, but stay on my feet. Cale, on the other hand, falls backwards onto his purple backside quite spectacularly.

After bringing on a tidal wave of laughter, Cale gets up clumsily and shuffles over to the boys' bowl. He takes a little less time pulling out a slip of paper and cries out "Octavian Sparrow!" in that ever so annoying Capitol accent. Immediately, he's answered by three voices shouting at the same time, almost as one.

"I VOLUNTEER!" Three boys from the eighteen-year-old section start surging towards the stage, shoulder to shoulder. The one on the right is really tall with a large head, but thin as a wire. The one in the center is the most balanced out of the three of them. Lined with muscle, only a couple of inches shorter than the one on the left, this guy is the typical career male. The guy on the right looks like a poster boy for steroids. It's actually a bit grotesque how many layers of muscles this guy has. He's also about eight inches shorter than the one in the center. The boy on the left seems to have taken a bit of a lead, but that one in the center pulls him back. Correction: He grabs the boy on the left by his face and pushes him to the ground. The boy in the center runs to the stage and quickly tackles the stairs.

"Ah, another volunteer! Now what is your name, dear boy?" Cale gives him a large, toothy smile.

The boy snatches the microphone from his hand and says, "Urban Reign, the future Victor of the 88th Annual Hunger Games." He smiles confidently and Cale takes back the microphone.

"And what might be your name, I'd forgotten to ask," he inquires.

I take the microphone and say, "Freyja Alahael," as confidently and as clearly as possible. I'm not going to let some teenage super soldier overshadow me. He definitely looks the part of a formidable foe, as well as a very useful ally I'll have to look into him for the Career Pack on the train.

We shake hands and are escorted to the Justice Building. I sit down on the couch at the back corner of the room and immediately my two friends, Shine and Veronica, are here to see me. Shine bumps me on the arm and says, "Way to go, tigress!" She gave me that nickname in third grade when she came to watch my first day of training. I'd looked at the finger talons and immediately tried them on. I shredded the chest of the nearest dummy, and Shine has called me that ever since. "Didn't know if you were really going to go for it! You sure pulled a fast one on us this time!"

I look at her incredulously. "What do you mean; I've been saying I was going to volunteer for years!"

She laughs. "I'm kidding, we knew you were going to do it. You got these Games in the bag." I look over at Veronica, and she's trying to look like she agrees with Shine, but I can tell what on her mind. She's afraid for me.

I sit back. "Yes, I do. It doesn't matter how big or strong or smart or fast these other tributes are. I'm definitely going to win these Games."

Veronica coughs nervously and says, "Just be careful not to get yourself killed, okay Freyja?" I look at her. Goodness, she really is worried. I take her in for a hug, and she holds me tightly against her chest. "I really want you to come home." She manages a smile. "After all, if you die, all I'll have left for company is Shine." Shine huffs.

"Hey, that's offensive, Veronica! Nice to see you like being around me," she complains.

I smile. "Don't worry, Veronica. I'll win this Game, and I promise you won't just have Shine for company."

"Again! Hurtful!" Shine protests. The two of them walk out and my parents walk in. My mom looks like she's been crying and was only able to get it together moments ago. My father has a blank expression on his face. Not a surprise from either of them.

"Hello, Mom, Dad." Mom sits down next to me and hugs me. My dad puts a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about me, Mom. I'll be winning this game within the first week. You'll see. And Dad, I've said sorry before, I'll say it again. I'm sorry for grandma's sister, and I'll prove it to you by not coming home in a box."

My dad looks like he wants to say something back, but for some reason, he doesn't. He just looks at me sadly. My mom is crying now. "Sweetie, we know you. You are going to do your best in the arena. We just wish that you didn't feel like you had to prove yourself to us. We've always loved you unconditionally." She sniffles, and then starts sobbing again. Dad clears his throat.

"Just come home to us, Freyja. We know-" his voice breaks. "We know you'll make us proud." He looks like he's going to say more, but two Peacekeepers rush in and start pulling my parents away from me. Almost out of the room, my dad yells, "Freyja we love you!" Mom is pulled out the door, but Dad is still resisting. This is surprising. He usually doesn't pay any attention to me. He starts to say something, but the peacekeepers shut the door before he can.

The door on the other side of the room opens and I am being led onto the train by the same two peacekeepers that led me to the justice building. I see my district partner sitting at a coffee table with a bowl of… dried meat. He's chowing down on a large hunk of jerky, completely disregarding everything else around him. I roll my eyes and sit down in a chair a few meters away. I pluck a strawberry out of bowl of fruit in the middle of the table and take a bite. It's absolutely scrumptious; some of the best food I've ever tasted. I'm very impressed with the Capitol and their food. It even rivals the food we have at home. If this is what their food is like, I can't wait to see the training equipment they have. Surely I'll find anything I need to prepare myself for the games. I might even be able to practice on a couple of Avoxes if they let me. "_I am definitely winning this game,_" I think smugly.


	3. District One: The Gold Standard

**District One: Urban Reign**

"Mmph, oof. Oooohhhh, yeah. Riiight there." I groan. I sit up on my bed and look my masseuse in the eyes, and she stares back at me. My girlfriend, Shakra, gives the best massages. Her blonde hair is done up in a ponytail. She is shorter than me by a good five inches, but she has the type of badass attitude to back herself up. Her eyes are the lightest shade of blue I've ever seen, and her skin is the perfect tan. My brother Maxwell says she's the female version of me. I can't blame him; we are a lot alike, which is good because I love myself. Some say that calling your significant other a trophy is treating them like an object, but I prefer to have all my things gold standard. The only difference between her and I is that my blonde hair is buzz cut, my eyes are a more cerulean blue, and I've got a thicker layer of muscle than she does. Today is the day of the reaping, and she decided to give me a massage for good luck. I'm going to volunteer this year, and I'm going to win. "That was great, Shakra." I kiss her lightly on the cheek.

"Mmm, hmmhmm, stop it, Urban."

"Now why would I do that?" I kiss her again, and again, and after a few minutes of this, she pulls away.

"You need to get ready for the reapings, that's why. Come on now, you need to get dressed."

"Ok, ok." I give her one last kiss and pull a pair of pants on over my athletic shorts. I grab a black t-shirt out of my closet and throw it on. Shakra gives me a disapproving look. "What?"

"It's the reapings! Are you going to volunteer in jeans and a t-shirt?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, duh. Sorry, I just got distracted by this great massage somebody gave me." She blushes. I take off my black t-shirt, pull on a white tank top, go over to my closet, pull out a grey dress shirt and a black vest and put those on. I head over to the other side of my closet and pull a black pair of slacks out. As I'm putting them on, I ask Shakra, "Well what about you? I doubt you want to go to the reapings in a tank top and shorts." She looks down at her clothes. Just a pink tank and a pair of neon green shorts.

"Well, of course I'm going to change, silly." She winks. "But first I have to be at my own house to get my clothes." By now I've got my clothes on: A black vest over a grey dress shirt with a grey striped tie, black slacks, black socks, shiny black dress shoes. Keep it simple.

"Well then I say we take care of that, don't you?"

"Not we, Urban. You know how Daddy is about me having boys alone with me in my room watching me change." She smiles. "Besides, my dress is a surprise."

"See now, that's what windows are for."

"Urban," chides Shakra.

"All right, all right." I throw up my hands in surrender. "I can wait. Just hurry up."

She giggles and we head downstairs. My two brothers, Maxwell and Torque, are sitting at the table. We're triplets, Maxwell, Torque and I. Maxwell is technically the oldest, I came next, and Torque is the youngest. Max has an enormous head; he's thin as a wire and well over six feet tall. Torque is the complete opposite. He barely reaches five and a half feet, but he's the heaviest by far. He spends the most time in the training facility out of all of us, but all he ever does is lift weights. Last week he was 265 pounds and pretty much all muscle. His friends call him 2% as a joke about his body fat. Torque usually never says anything, and today is no different. He just sits there, drinking his protein shake.

"Oh, great, he lives," says Max. Always the sarcastic one, Max is. "That was quite a long massage; I was starting to think something else was going on up there."

"Thanks for your concern, Mom," I retort.

"You're welcome."

I laugh and walk Shakra to her house. It's a rather uneventful walk, but that's because she lives six houses down from mine. I bid her adieu and saunter back to my own home. When I arrive, I see that my two brothers are dressed in their reaping attire. Maxwell is dressed in a teal dress-shirt and grey slacks with a teal tie. Torque has on a deep purple tie over a lighter purple dress-shirt with black slacks. "Torque, your collar is popped," I point out.

"Huh? Wuh? Uhhh, oh. Right, collar. Dumb collar." He spins around trying to see what's wrong, with no avail. His neck meat prevents his head from turning more than 45 degrees. He reaches up and pushes his collar down.

I walk over to the fridge and pull out a plate with a pork chop on it. I pop it into the microwave and press a button that says 'U' for Urban. I love having a microwave with customizable settings. That's the big perk of living in District One; you get all the latest luxury items the Capitol has.

There's just one thing occupying my mind as I wait for my pork chop to be done: the pork chop. I absolutely adore meat. Any sort of meat is fine with me, as long as it's meat. We were studying personal health in science class a few years ago, and we had to do a research project on a health specialist of our choice, and I chose a man named Atkins. He had a special diet plan consisting of meat and only meat. Ever since that project, I've been following that diet. Thanks to it, I've got 15.5" steroid free biceps. I can't say the same for my brother, Torque, though. He says that he doesn't do steroids, but his 17 inch biceps say differently. The fact that he threw a chair at his friend Zurf Thompson for taking his water bottle was a bit of a tip-off as well.

I walk into the living room where my mother and father are watching a rerun of the 68th Annual Hunger Games. My dad, Butch, won that year. He isn't mentoring because of the rebellion; all victors who won prior to the rebellion aren't allowed to mentor any of the tributes from here on in, which is stupid. My dad only surrendered to the rebels so he didn't have to deal with them.

The movie looked like it was near the end. The mini-map in the corner showed the remaining tributes, and there were three dots left. Yep, the games were almost finished. I sit down on the couch next to my dad and he beams at me. My mom, Gloria, stops the video.

"Urban, my boy, that's going to be you someday." He points to the screen. The video is paused right at the spot where my dad is dueling with the boy from six and the girl from eleven at the same time. "You'll be doing that sort of thing in the arena, provided that you can beat your brothers to the podium." He laughs his big, belly laugh, and I laugh with him.

All three of us brothers want to go to the games this year, but I'm obviously the best candidate. Max is the smartest out of all of us, but he's not very strong. Torque is pretty much the polar opposite; strong (and dumb) as an ox. I balance the two out. I'm pretty strong, not able to bench 535 lbs. like Torque, but strong. I might not be as smart as my brother Max, but I know what to do in a fight.

"Urban." My dad grips my shoulder and stares me straight in the eye. "You are the one who has to make it to the stage first. Maxwell, sure he's a smarty, but he can't handle a weapon very well at all, and that's putting it lightly." It's true; I've watched him in the training facility. He handles an axe like Torque handles people stealing his water bottle: poorly. "And Torque's got the muscles, he just made the mistake of draining all of his brainpower into them. Nope, son, you're the one I want going into those games. You have the best chance out of everybody, and you'll for sure put on the best show. You play the game like this," he gestures to the TV, "and you'll be sure to win." He claps me on the shoulder. "See? I'm still here! Gloria, turn the TV back on."

Mom starts the video again and the battle resumes. The boy from six lunges out with his sword and nicks my dad in the side. Dad kicks him in the shoulder with the heel of his boot and he crumples. The girl from eleven jumps over the fallen boy and tries to strike my dad over the head with her stave. My dad catches it in midair with his right hand and tosses her to the side. He kicks the boy from six in the jaw with his left foot as he's getting up, and the boy sprawls out on the ground.

The girl my dad tossed does a roll and is back on her feet. She sweeps my dad's legs out from under him and he falls to the ground. My dad cringes next to me. The girl takes her dagger out from the sheath on her belt and prepares to stab my dad in the face when my dad sweeps his leg and hits the back of her right knee. She doesn't fall, but it gives him the second he needs. He stands up and stabs her in the chest with his sword. She falls and the cannon signifying her death sounds off.

The boy from six is up by now, and sees his ally fall. His lets out a roar of anguish and turns towards my dad with rage in his eyes. He charges my dad and tries to slash through his arm. It doesn't work. My dad soon disarms him and stabs him in the stomach. The boy falls, but he's still alive. He closes his eyes, but my dad slaps him in the face. "Wake up, time to die," he says, then slits the boy's throat.

I look at the clock. Ten minutes until the reaping starts. I say good-bye to my family and quickly head over to Shakra's. I knock on the door and she answers. Wow. Her hair is done up in a cone shape, glittering with aquamarines. I think it's supposed to be some ancient Greek style of hair, but I'm not sure. All I know is that it looks great. Her dress is the same color as the gems, with one strap over her right shoulder.

I'm just standing there, mouth agape. She laughs. "Strong and silent as ever, I see. C'mon, let's get out of here." We walk on over to the town square, and by the time that we get there, the mayor is in the middle of his speech. At least I haven't missed anything important. Our mayor, Gaston Marquis, recites the same hour-long speech, so about a third of District One is asleep by the time he finishes. Sure enough, when I get to my place in the eighteen-year-old section, my brother Torque is already nodding off. Maxwell is beside him, occasionally poking him in the shoulder. I stand between them and take over poking Torque. I have to admit, I can see why Torque is falling asleep. The mayor's speech seems especially dreary this time.

Finally, Gaston wraps things up. He turns the microphone over to our District Escort, Cale Meksilian. He looks ridiculous as always with his pale green skin. It makes him appear as though he's constantly on the verge of throwing up. His hair looks like the vegetable kale, both in color and in style. His outfit matches his hair, with a green suit, pale purple pants, and incredibly shiny and ridiculous shoes, also purple. He compliments the mayor on his speech, and Maxwell rolls his eyes.

"Just like the last year, and the year before that, and before that…" Max drawls on until I punch him in the arm. It's not that I don't want him to insult the escort; I'm perfectly fine with that. I just want to see who my competition is.

"Now then, let's see who our female tribute is this year, hmm?" He strides over to the girls' bowl and reaches in. He pulls out a name and shouts, "Topaz Hamen!" Not two seconds after the name leaves his lips, another voice rings out.

"I volunteer!" A girl from the eighteen-year-old section strides up to the stage and stands firmly in the center, directly to the left of Cale. I recognize her as Freyja Alahael. She spends more time in the training facility than even Torque. Cale walks into her on the way to the boys' bowl and falls over. Freyja stumbles, a bit caught off guard. The entirety of District One starts laughing; Maxwell doubles over because he's chuckling so much.

Cale gets up, flustered. He brushes off his suit and pants. His green skin is a deep red. He shuffles over to the boys' bowl, and I look at the slips intently. Cale pulls one out and cries, "Octavian Sparrow!"

The three of our voices speak as one when we shout, "I volunteer!" We surge towards the stage, almost robotic in movement. Maxwell starts to steadily make longer strides, and I can tell that if this turns to a race, he will win. He may not be the strongest, but being the lightest, Max is the fastest of the three of us. He starts to pick up pace, so I do the only thing that pops into my head: I grabbed Maxwell's face and shoved him down. I made a break for the stage knowing that Torque was too slow to keep up, and in no time, I'm standing next to Freyja and Cale.

With everybody's eyes trained on me, I put my most confident face on (which isn't difficult) and swagger over to Cale. "Ah, another volunteer! Now what is your name, dear boy?" He barely gets the words out before I take the microphone.

"Urban Reign, the future Victor of the 88th Annual Hunger Games." It might've been a tad arrogant, but in my defense, there's nothing wrong with telling the truth. Cale asks Freyja for her name, and she gives it to him.

"Freyja Alahael." And without further ado, a couple of Peacekeepers quickly escort us to the Justice Building and Freyja and I are put in separate rooms. My brother Maxwell comes in first.

He slugs me in the shoulder. "Thanks buddy, for slamming the back of my head into the gravel in front of all of Panem; always wanted to be the laughingstock of the country." He never fails to insert some sort of sarcastic remark. Torque comes in at this time, but Max stays. "Seriously, though, I can't say I mind too much. Going a couple of weeks without all this," He gestures to the room, which is full of extravagant tapestries and furniture, "Would be a real shame." Shakra walks in, and Maxwell and Torque take this as their cue to leave.

Before he walks out, Torque says, "Hey Urban." I look at him.

"Yeah, Torque?"

"Bash a couple of heads in for me; Torque style. Kay?" I chuckle. Torque style. One day in training, Torque thought he could bench 575 lbs. He ended up being able to get the bar up only about three inches, which really set him off. He got off of the bench and stormed over to where a couple of ten-year-olds were practicing techniques with hammers against a couple of dummies. He took the two dummies in his hands and smashed their heads in. Now keep in mind that these were solid wood dummies. Yeah. Torque style. He went home soon after with a ton of splinters in his hands.

"Sure man; Torque style." They walk out just as Shakra sits down next to me.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You like my dress?" she gestures to her dress.

"Hell yeah, I like your dress!"

She laughs. "Well thank you. I was worried it'd be a bit much, considering that I wasn't volunteering. But really, why would I volunteer if you were? We'd just have to fight each other." She's right. As much as I'd like her to be in the arena with me, eventually one of us would have to die.

I nod solemnly. "Yeah." We sit there for a few seconds, with her just hugging my right arm and me holding her close. I start to think. "_What if I don't come back? What if the next time Shakra sees me is in a box?"_ I push those thoughts out of my head and kiss my girlfriend on the forehead. She has a single tear running down her cheek. I wipe it away and she looks at me with those beautiful, light-blue eyes.

"Promise me you'll return?" I kiss her on the cheek.

"Of course I'll return. Don't you worry."

At that moment, two Peacekeepers burst in, and I give Shakra a kiss on the lips right before they grab hold of her. She resists and shakes them off. "I can walk by myself, idiots!" They let her go and she walks out with them. My parents enter next. My dad is beaming.

"Well done, son. I knew you'd do it!" he booms, clapping me on the back like he always does.

"But Dad, I haven't even hit the arena yet."

"I'm talking about getting to the stage first, dear boy! I wish I could be boarding this train with you! Don't worry though; your mentors are almost as good as me. Marble and Vincent know what they're doing."

That they do. I've seen them around the Victor's village and in the training facility. Marble Acaica is a sly one; always trying to get the best deal on the newest luxury product. He won the 77th Hunger Games by slinging a rock at the temple of his District partner right after she got up from killing another tribute. It wasn't the fairest or most honorable of maneuvers, but you have to do what you can to win. His District partner definitely out-classed him, so a fair fight wouldn't have spelled victory for Marble.

The other mentor, Vincent Giorgio, is mostly seen in the training facility helping the really little kids learn basic techniques. This is a bit of a contradiction to his behavior in the arena. He won three years after Marble and currently holds the record for the most tributes killed in Hunger Games history: fourteen. He slaughtered at least four in the bloodbath, killed the rest of the Career Pack the next day, adding five more kills, and killed five more tributes after that, and all of this with a dagger and the length of cord he used to strangle the members of the Career Pack in their sleep. I turn to my dad and smile.

"I know Dad. I got this."

"You're damn right you do, Urban! I've seen you train. If Vince doesn't put you in charge of the career pack, I'm gonna be really surprised." He ruffles my hair.

My mom clears her throat. "We have the utmost confidence in you, honey. You're going to come home to us, warm and breathing."

"Yeah Mom, I will." The Peacekeepers come in. My mom and dad stand up and start to walk out.

Mom looks over her shoulder and says, "We love you sweetie! Don't ever forget that!"

The door closes, and I'm left alone for a short amount of time. The Peacekeepers that escorted me to the Justice Building are back and they escort me to the train. I step on, and immediately see the platter of beef jerky on a counter off to my right. I grab the platter and set it on a coffee table. I sit down and start to eat when my District partner walks in. I give a quick glance, but turn back to the jerky. This is some good jerky! I can't wait to see what they have at the actual Capitol. As I'm eating, I think back to what my mom said: warm and breathing. I don't know why, but that bugs me a bit. It puts an image of my body heading home in a box. I don't like it. I shake my head and grab another piece of jerky. I don't know why I'm worried. I'm strong, I'm quick, and I can kill. Most of all, I can, and will, win these games. After all, I announced myself as the victor of the 88th Annual Hunger Games. I can't be seen as a liar.


	4. District Two: Unmet Expectations

**Note: One of the characters calls Jecili 'Jece' (pronounced Jess) at certain points, and that contradicts with the spelling of her name. I've tried various spellings, but Jece is the best I could come up with.**

District Two Reapings: Jecili Davini

"_Dad, what are you doing?" My father picks up a flower vase in the hall and dumps the contents onto the floor. Dirt and daisies tumble out, causing a mess. He looks at me standing in the doorway of my room. "Dad, seriously, what's going on?" He stalks towards me and hits the vase against the end table to the left of the entrance to my room. I back away from the door and he walks in. His face is unreadable._

"_Come here, Jeci," he says._

_I back up until I hit my bed and fall upon it. My dad reaches the bed and pins me down by the throat. He raises the broken vase. "Dad, stop it!"_

_He ignores me and brings the vase down on my face. It breaks my nose and blood starts running down my face. It enters my mouth and I cough up more. He hits me a second time. My lip is bleeding badly, and he's knocked out a couple of teeth. I'm screaming as my father pummels me. He strikes my face a third time and punctures my right eye. I scream even louder than I thought possible at the pain. He lifts the broken vase again._

"_Dad," I whisper, tears streaming from my eyes, "Please don't."_

His face is deadpan as he brings the vase down for the fourth time, and I wake up with a gasp. I haven't had that dream in at least a year. It holds no relevance to anything; my father, Brucen, has never beaten me. He's really all I could ask for in a father. This dream is still unsettling, as any dream in which severe harm comes to you would.

I shake my head, sit up, and look around my room. There isn't much in the name of extravagance; I'm not much for decoration. There's my bed, my closet, and a couple of windows. It's not glamorous or anything, but it's familiar. I walk out of my bedroom and head down the hall to the bathroom. On the way there, I pass my brother Castor's room. It smells of rosemary. He only comes home for the reapings. Otherwise, he runs an organic spice store in the Capitol. His apartment is a floor above, so he's always surrounded by his herbs. He says they help him think. I say they help him be a nut. Other than the ridiculous amount of time he invests in his spices, my brother is a pretty cool guy. He used to work out and train for the Hunger Games, and planned on volunteering when he was seventeen. He ended up not because he broke his arm two weeks before the reapings during a training exercise. He still keeps in shape, though.

I move past Castor's room and walk into the bathroom. After a short shower I walk back to my room garbed in a towel, holding my pajamas. I throw the clothes into the hamper and walk into my closet. I choose a cobalt strapless dress from the very back and walk out of my closet. I drape the towel I was wearing on my bedpost and slip into the dress. I return to the bathroom and do my hair and makeup, and then return to my room to admire my figure. Due to years of training, I've developed a lean, athletic body. My hair is brown and straight; not very exciting, but I'm fine with that. My eyes are the color of dark chocolate and my face is angled, giving me a mischievous appearance. I give myself a knowing smile and walk out of my room. Just as I pass Castor's door, it opens and Castor comes out. I look behind me to see my big brother in a suit coat, blue dress shirt, and matching tie.

"You do know that you aren't eligible for the reapings anymore, right?" I inquire, raising my eyebrow in mock skepticism.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't dress up, does it?"

"I suppose, but you look more dressed up than me!" He looks himself over.

"Not really, all you need is like, a piece of jewelry or something."

I don't really wear jewelry. I don't hate jewelry, but I don't like it very much either. Especially those huge earrings I see people wearing. Some of those are so big that I'm surprised that they don't just rip right through the person's earlobe.

Castor walks back into his room. I follow and I see him rummaging through his suitcase. He opens up a small pocket and pulls out a bracelet. It's more of a gauntlet than a bracelet, really; It goes about six inches up my forearm. The pattern is latticed, all the tendrils interlacing around each other. The most impressive part of the gauntlet is that it seems to be 100% diamond.

"Castor, how in the world did you get this?" I look up at him and he shrugs.

"My shop is right next to a jewelry store. The owner is a frequent customer of mine, so I got the bracelet for a reduced price."

"That person must really love spices."

"Yes, she does." He sits down on his bed and I sit next to him. "In addition to the jewelry store, she is an avid cook, always looking for something new to try. She actually told me that the only reason she went into jewelry was because she inherited the shop from her mother and she couldn't bear to sell it. She has a couple of kids older than me, so once they get enough experience with the business, she plans on giving it to them and starting her own restaurant. Pretty interesting, huh?"

"How much did you end up paying?"

"A small sum of $180,000."

My mouth hits the floor. "$180,000? THAT'S NOT SMALL!"

"Actually, it is." He leaned in close to me and lowers his voice. "Don't tell Mom and Dad, Jece, because they'll want to get in on this. A couple months back, I bought a lottery ticket. Not something I normally do, but I decided, hey, I might as well try it. Can't hurt much; it's only $10. So I bought the ticket and went home. I scratched off the filmy stuff on the ticket, and in big red numbers it said $350,000.27."

"Really? 27 cents?" I give him the skeptical face for the third time. "And also, a $180,000 bracelet still isn't cheap, no matter how much you win the lottery."

"Yeah, I guess you're right, but it was still cheap enough for me not to spend any money other than the lotto money. So anyway, long story short, I won the lottery. Here's the ticket." He reaches into the smallest pocket of his suitcase and pulls out a little yellow card. Sure enough, $350,000.27 was printed on the front is big, red numbers.

"Huh. You weren't kidding, Castor." He smiles and bows his head. He looks up at me and hands me the bracelet.

"Nope. Also, they've got some interesting stuff in Capitol. You should check it out sometime. I'm assuming you're volunteering?"

"Yeah."

"Good, then I didn't bring this for nothing." He reaches into his suitcase again and pulls out a wad of bills. "That's $5,000 for you to spend at the Capitol." He hands it to me and my eyes go wide.

"Wait, really? How do you know that I'll even be able to go out and do anything?"

"I've seen tributes walk around the Capitol prior to the Games in years past, though they were mostly District 1, 2, and 4 tributes. None of them came into the store, though."

"Oh. Did you get to talk to any of them otherwise?"

"I would've told you about it if I did," he replies. He looks at his watch. "What time do the reapings start? 12:00?"

"You're close; they start at 11:30," I say.

He looks at his watch again. "Well then we should get going. It's 10:29 right now."

I stand up and he reaches out his hand, the lazy bum. I roll my eyes and pull him up. As I'm pulling him up, he hits my shoulder, causing him to fall to the floor. He starts laughing and I just smile and roll my eyes. My brother is such a performer. I reach out my hand a second time, and he laughs and shakes his head.

"No, I'm good this time!"

He gets up and we head downstairs. My father is sitting there, eating a plate of eggs and toast while my mother, Phoxia, cooks at the stove. My father looks up and grins.

"There she is, my little girl!" He gets up and pulls me in for a big bear hug. My mom turns around.

"You ready for the reapings, Honey?" she queries. I'm about to say yes when my dad interjects.

"Of course she is!" He turns back towards me and grabs my shoulders. "I've seen you in training, Jecili. You could win this game blindfolded."

"Thanks, Dad." I look over his shoulder at Mom. "And yes, Mom, I'm ready. I'll make you guys proud!" I look at Castor and he shuffles awkwardly. Dad was not happy when Castor broke his arm in training. He was counting on having Castor to cheer on that year. When Castor went off to the Capitol to sell spices, Dad took it as an act of defiance, like he broke his arm on purpose so that he didn't have to go to the Hunger Games, which of course isn't true. Castor was furious with himself after he broke his arm. Nevertheless, things have been tense between the two of them ever since. My mom and dad look at Castor. I clear my throat to draw back some attention. "Hey, Mom, what's for breakfast?"

"Eggs and toast, dear, and some cranberry oatmeal if you'd like it." She gestures to the pot she's stirring.

"Eggs and toast should be fine, Mom, thanks," I say. I pick up my plate from the table and start towards the counter where the food is, but my mother stops me.

"Oh, you don't have to get up, honey, I can get you breakfast. What about you, Castor?" Castor looks at Mom. He hasn't moved from his spot at the base of the stairs. "Come and sit down." He sets himself down in the chair opposite mine.

"I'll just have oatmeal, thanks." Mom nods and brings the pot over to Castor's bowl, which he put in front of him after pushing his plate aside. She sets the oatmeal down on the stove and takes the pan with the eggs off of the burner it was on. As she's delivering some to my plate, Castor speaks up again. "Do we have any cinnamon?"

"Yes, Castor, it's up in the cupboard," she says as she points to the cupboard above and to the right of the stove. Castor stands and gets the cinnamon. He brings it back and sprinkles it on his oatmeal. I take a few bites of eggs and then look up. Castor is still putting cinnamon on his oatmeal. My father, who sat down to the right of me, glares at Castor.

"Son, I think that's plenty of cinnamon."

Castor looks at Dad. "Sorry, Dad, It's just that working at the spice shop has numbed my senses to some spices, so it takes more for it to have the same potency."

"Still, Castor, spices are expensive. Let's try showing some control."

"Ok, Dad." Castor puts down the cinnamon. He then reaches into his suit coat and pulls out a vial. I know where he got the vial from; there's a mini spice rack clipped to his shirt pocket. I didn't think he'd be bringing it here, though.

He gave me a tour of his building a couple of years ago when he first started. While speaking to a customer, he had the spice rack on his shirt pocket, which I thought was odd, so I asked him about it. _"It's so that my customers can sample one of the spices I have on sale. It's my own invention!"_ The spice rack had room for four vials, and in each vial he kept a sample of each of the four spices he had on sale at that time.

I look at Castor as he takes the stopper off of the vial and taps it slightly; allowing whatever spice it is that he has to sprinkle out on his oatmeal. My dad has an annoyed look on his face.

"Now what is it?" he demands, pointing at the vial. "I just said you don't need so much spice. Put that away."

"It's just cardamom, Dad, relax." Castor taps the vial once more before putting the stopper back on and putting it back on his mini spice rack. This, however, sets my dad off.

Dad raises his voice and slams a hand down on the table. "Don't smart off to me, boy. I said put it away!"

"It is away!" my brother protests.

"After I said to quit it with the cinnamon, _and _after I said to put it away. Twice!"

"I put it away when you told me the first time!"

"Dammit, Castor, I said stop smarting off! That's twice now that you've disobeyed me!"

"Is it a crime for me to enjoy putting flavor on my food?"

Dad is about to say something when my mom interrupts. "STOP IT!" Castor and my dad look at my mom. She rarely yells. "Everybody, just stop it! Castor, eat your oatmeal as it is and apologize to your father." Castor looks at Dad.

"Mm sorry," he mumbles.

Dad looks at Castor and his expression softens ever so slightly. "I'm sorry too, son. I shouldn't have yelled at you. It must be the stress of the reapings."

My dad is right. As exciting as the reapings are, there's always the awareness of the fact that 22 other kids from other districts are also going into the arena, and none of them want to die. My mother sits down with a bowl of oatmeal and some toast and we finish our breakfast in silence. After taking the last bite of toast, I look up at the clock and see that it is 11:05. When the rest of the family is finished with their breakfast, we drive down to the town square. Dad parks the car, we all get out and I head over to the eighteen-year-old section while my parents and Castor head off in another direction.

The district escort, Amneeta Bendoli, wobbles out onstage. I say wobble because it's really impossible to place any other word on her gait. The reason for this is her shoes. Amneeta is wearing enormously tall heels; they have to be at least ten inches. They're scarlet, along with the scarf she has around her neck. She has on a dress skirt of the plainest blue that is much too short, which is horrible because it leaves her bloated kneecaps in plain view. They have often been described as the kneecaps from Hell. Her makeup was surprisingly simple, with just some dull red lipstick and blush on her face. Her eyebrows are dyed a very shiny golden color, along with her curly hair, which (thankfully) is tucked underneath a hat, also blue. She wobbles up to the podium and taps the microphone. She smiles and shouts, "Hello, District Two, and happy Hunger Games!" She's greeted by thunderous applause from all around. "Before we find out who our lucky tributes are, let's hear a word from the mayor."

The mayor of District Two, Pontius Grewman, is a very well-built man; it's obvious how much he works out. His improvements on the Nut made it even stronger than before the Revolt of the Mockingjay. He even poured thousands of dollars from his own pocket into a second training facility. He only has one problem, and that's his monotonous tone. The man has the most monotonous voice in the district. It's almost as if he's a robot. The speech he gives every year is always different, and if it wasn't for his tone, he might actually be able to keep some people awake.

As he drones on about Panem's history, I slip into my own thoughts. I think of what the arena will be like, what sort of weapons I could get my hands on, and what my strategy will be when the Career alliance goes kaput. I look over to the boys' section to see what sort of district partner I might have. I crane my neck to look at the twelve-year-old section, but no luck; I am too short. I can only see up to the fifteen-year-olds, so I'll only be able to gain insight on possible volunteers. I glaze over the sixteen-year-olds, and I still see no one that could be of use. A few of them have a decent layer of muscle, but that's about it. The same goes for those in the seventeen-year-olds, except for a few boys I recognize from the training facility. As I start to look into the eighteen-year-old section, I see one particularly burly boy right behind the wall of seventeen-year-olds. He's strawberry-blonde and makes the mayor look like a toothpick. He's staring intensely at the stage, just waiting for the chance to bolt up there. Unless one of those fifteen-year-olds is really quick, I can tell that the strawberry blonde one will definitely be this year's tribute.

A large blast of feedback from the microphone diverts my attention back to the stage. Everyone covers their ears in annoyance, and Amneeta once again wobbles up to the podium. "Thank you for that extravagant speech, Mr. Mayor. Now then, who would like to see the lucky two tributes are this year?" Amneeta receives a throng of shouts as a response and scoots over to the girls' bowl. She pulls out a slip of paper and slowly unfolds it. The tension is palpable. Finally, she tosses her hair back, looks out among the kids of the district, and reads the name on the slip of paper.

"Valeria Lockhearst!" Her Capitolite accent, as ridiculous as it is, rings clear. A tall girl with olive skin from the sixteen-year-old section starts striding towards the stage. As soon as she gets there, the volunteers will start running. I make my way towards the left of my section so that I'm right next to the center aisle, and see that a couple of girls I don't know are doing the same. Valeria steps up onstage and Amneeta says, "Now is the time for volunteers."

As soon as she says the word 'volunteers' I begin heading towards the stage. I see a girl in the fifteen-year-old section struggling to reach the main aisle, so I pick up the pace. Just as the girl reaches the main aisle, I give her the coldest stare I can muster, and she stops short. My brother told me I have that effect on people when I shoot them my 'you will die right now' stare, as he's become so fond to call it.

I walk calmly up to the center of the stage, right up to Amneeta. "And what might your name be, young lady?" I divert my eyes over to the side of the district escort for fear that I might burst out laughing at her ridiculous getup.

She points the microphone at me and I respond coolly, "My name is Jecili Davini."

"Let's give Jecili, your newest female tribute, a round of applause!" The crowd responds, and I look towards the back where my family is standing. My father is clapping like crazy. Castor is standing next to him with his arms crossed, looking at me. Knowing him, he's probably rolling his eyes at my father's enthusiasm. He gives me a thumbs-up. For lack of a better word, Amneeta wobbles over to the boys' bowl.

"Voss Czaikov!" A tall, wiry teenager from the seventeen-year-old section starts making his way up to the stage. Once he steps up next to me, Amneeta asks for volunteers. Immediately a little boy standing right up front bolts onstage. Amneeta looks very surprised. She sputters a bit, and then collects herself. "What might you be doing, young man?"

"I'm volunteering! My name is Hudson Dashiel, and I'm going to win the Hunger Games," he says with confidence.

"I admire your eagerness Hudson," says Amneeta, "but only those fifteen years of age and up may volunteer. I'm sorry, but you can't volunteer this year."

Hudson's ears turn a deep pink and a bewildered look comes across his face. "But, b-but," he starts to protest, but Amneeta takes back the microphone and asks if there are any other volunteers. Three boys in the thirteen-year-old section raise their hands, but I can see from the looks on their snickering faces that it's just a joke. Hudson's entire face turns scarlet and he stomps back to his place in the twelve-year-old section.

Amneeta smiles at these three boys. "Any more volunteers that are of age," she says. Immediately, there's a shout in the back.

"I volunteer!" Sure enough, my prediction came true. The ginger boy sprints up to the stage, as if he has the fear that somebody from the other eligible sections might try to get there first. It's highly doubtful, though, considering the boy's size and overall intimidating appearance.

The ginger haired boy finally gets up to the stage, and I finally get a good look at my competition. I can immediately tell this one trains at the Nut. His face is battered up a bit and his nose is squashed, like someone had recently flung a chair at it. He has layer upon layer of muscles practically everywhere, but his focus in his training has definitely been the upper body. That much is easy to tell. He's trying to hide it, but that sprint from the eighteen-year-old section to the stage left him a bit winded, so if there's any sort of situation in which the Career Pack will have to run for a while, this one is going to have some difficulty. "And your name is?" Amneeta inquires.

"Gore Sardi." Gore Sardi? What sort of a person names their kid Gore? Before I can mull it over, Amneeta stands between us. She raises my right arm and Gore's left.

"Let's have another round of applause for your tributes this year: Jecili Davini and Gore Sardi!" Gore has his other hand in the air clasped in a fist. He brings it down and thumps his chest twice. I simply stand there, looking over the crowd. I look at Hudson, who's pouting and refusing to look at the stage. I shift my gaze back towards my family. My dad has his fingers in his mouth, and I can hear him whistling over everybody's clapping. Amneeta brings our arms down, and Gore and I shake hands. We are then led off to the Justice Building and set in different waiting rooms.

As soon as I sit down on one of the couches, my mother and father walk in. My father picks me up in his signature bear hug. "Excellent idea, Dad," I say as he's hugging me, "A few bruised ribs will definitely intimidate the other tributes." He puts me down and rubs the back of his neck.

"Sorry, Jeci, I guess I'm just a bit excited." He claps me on the shoulder. "You're going to the Hunger Games!" The three of us sit down on the couch. "Ok, now the first thing I want you to do when you get to the Capitol is find the other tributes from one and four, and team up. Get familiar with them. See how they behave, how they respond to things they don't like, what their strengths are, etc., because eventually, they will be your biggest competition. Ne-" He stops short. Dad looks at the diamond gauntlet Castor gave me.

"Dad?" I ask. "You were saying?"

"Hon, where did you get this? I've never seen it before." He lifts my arm up to get a closer look. "Is this all diamond?"

"I think so, I'm not sure," I reply. He looks at me.

"Where did you get this, this looks extremely expensive!" I don't want to expose Castor's winnings from the lottery, but I also don't want my parents to think I went and stole the gauntlet. "Come on now, spit it out! Where did you get this?"

I bite my lip and say, "Somebody gave it to me."

"Ok, honey, but who?" my mom inquires.

"Castor gave it to me, mom, as a District token." At this point, Castor walks in. My dad turns to look at him.

"So how much did this cost you, huh?" He grabs my wrist and shoves it towards my older brother. "Don't tell me your spices got you enough money for this."

"It wasn't very much, Dad!" he protests. "I got it for a reduced price."

"Of?"

"The lady who owns the jewelry shop next to me sold it to me for $20,000." Dad doesn't believe it.

"Don't lie to me, that's way too much diamond for $20,000. How much did you pay for this?" he shakes my wrist and I lose my balance. My mom stands up.

"Bruce!"

Dad turns around. "Shut it, Phoxy!" He looks back at my brother. "How much did you pay for it, really?"

Castor sighs and says, "$180,000."

Dad lets go of my arm and puts his hands on his head. "A hundred and eighty-" he put them down "Where did you get that sort of money?"

Castor hesitates for a bit and says, "I acquired it through a means of chance." Dad's face went dark.

"You were gambling?" Castor raises his hands and shakes his head.

"No, not gambling," he says, "I just bought a lotto ticket, that's all."

"And it never occurred to you to tell us this?" my mom asks.

"How many other tickets did you buy before that, huh?" My father is very angry now. He and Castor are standing toe to toe. "Ten? Twenty? Do you know how much money people waste on lotto tickets? What else are you getting into at the Capitol that we don't know about?"

"Nothing!" At this point, three Peacekeepers barge in and begin to take my mom, my dad, and Castor away. My dad turns to me as he's being led out.

"Fight hard, Jeci. You can do this." My brother turns to me as well.

"You got this, Jece!" My father turns back to Castor.

"We are not finished. I'm extremely disappointed in your choices."

And on that note, the doors close, and I'm left alone. My father and Castor have been at ends with each other ever since the broken arm incident, and seeing this fight today, I wonder if they'll ever be able to make amends. Happy Hunger Games, Jecili.


	5. District Two: Two Many Doors

**A/N: Hello everybody, I'm sorry that I haven't posted a new chapter in a long time, instead I've had my beta reader take a look at the previous chapters. Those have now all been newly revised and posted, so check those out, I should have the next chapter after this one up soon, but for now, put down the geometry homework you really need to do tonight and take a look at Gore Sardi!  
Thanks for reading!**

District Two Reapings: Gore Sardi

_Slam!_ The punching bag hits the floor. That's the third one in five hours that I've knocked off the chain. Damn, I'm getting lazy. I pick up the punching bag and examine it. The final blow I dealt tore the bag, spilling its contents on the floor. I snarl and throw the bag to the side. I check the clock on the other side of the training room I'm in, and it reads 9:16. Good, I've still got time before the reapings start. I smile. The reapings are in less than three hours. In less than three hours, my road to victory will reveal itself. In less than three hours, I will volunteer to face 23 other kids my age in a fight to the death; something I've been waiting for since the start of my training.

I turn around and head out the door, then head right and down the hall towards the elevator. I press a button next to the elevator and the door opens. I get on and exit the lelvator once it reaches floor seventeen. My friend Ardun Beard trains on this level, as do I when I'm not in a private session. I open the door to one of the training rooms. Sure enough, Ardun is there already, sparring with our trainer, Taurus Videl. They seem hell-bent on smashing each other's brains out with the clubs they're using, but I know that's just Ardun getting into his training again. Taurus is one of the older Peacekeepers in District Two, so he remembers everything that went on during the rebellion. I was only five or six years old, but I do remember some of it. I was shut up in the Nut most of the time. It was actually pretty boring. I wanted to go train, but nobody would let me. Nobody would tell me what was going on, anything like that. We just sat there for what seemed like weeks to my six-year-old mind. I don't know the actual amount of time that we spent in there.

Taurus knocks the club out of Ardun's hands and delivers a kick to his chest. Ardun is sent reeling backwards and trips over a stray box behind him, causing a fantastic crashing noise. Taurus and I burst into laughter, and this is the first time either of them notice me.

"Hey, Gore." Ardun delivers a small wave as he lies on top of the box he tripped over.

"You're late, Gore," Taurus says critically. "You were to be up here by 9:00. What is the reason for your absence?"

"Uuhhh, the punching bags?" I reply.

Taurus crosses his arms. "Really," he says, skeptical. "The punching bags wouldn't let you leave? They giving you a rough time?"

"Wuh, no, I was hitting them, and uh, I lost track of time. Honest!" I protest.

Taurus chuckles and says, "Knowing you, that's actually pretty likely. Come on, now. Pick up your clubs. I nod and walk over to the far side of the room. As I pass Ardun, I reach out my hand and he grabs it. I pull him up and continue towards the table on the far side of the room. My two clubs lie in the center of the table. I would like to train with the other weapons, but Taurus has said time and time again that our best bet in the arena is a club. Something simple you can make out of the environment and not have to rely on outside sources to obtain is better than something you need to wait for.

I pick up the two clubs and amble back over to Taurus. He raises his club and I raise mine.

"Ardun!" Taurus barks. "Give the signal to begin!"

"Yes, sir." Ardun nods his head and looks at us. "Go!"

I immediately go for a strike to the head with my left club and a sweep to his left leg with my right club. Taurus blocks the strike to the head and jumps over the swing to his leg. He then swings his club towards my left hip. I knock the weapon down and away from my hip with my left club and jab at his chest with my right. He bends back, barely avoiding the blow. Taking advantage of the awkward pose I've got him in, I strike at his right leg with the other club when another weapon knocks mine away away. I look to my left, bewildered, to see Ardun holding his club across our trainer's leg. Taurus smiles and straightens up.

"This is your consequence for being late. You are to fight both of us at the same time." Without even signaling that the match had resumed, Taurus flies out with a blow to my left arm. I knock it away and stumble backwards. Ardun comes at me from the left and I block a blow from him as well. I follow up quickly with a blow to his shoulder, which connects. Ardun grunts in pain and grabs his shoulder.

"What the Hell, Gore?" he yells.

"Oh, suck it up, you big baby," I reply as I block another blow from my trainer. Taurus tries to hit me in the shoulder, I block it, and he uppercuts me in the ribs with his free hand. I recoil and strike back with the club in my right hand. He blocks my strike and pushes me over. I'm about to get up when Ardun slams his club down at my face. I bring up my left club to stop the blow, but he pushes my club into my face. This really pisses me off, so I throw a punch at him, and it connects with his jaw. Soon, we're in an all-out brawl.

Eventually, Taurus decides to interfere. "Alright, break!" He jogs up to the two of us. I've got Ardun on his knees in a headlock while he's got a death grip on my leg. "I'd lecture you two for a few hours, but the reapings start soon, so you guys get off lucky this time." I glance over to the clock and sure enough, it's 10:25; about an hour until the reapings.

Ardun and I untangle ourselves and go to put away our weapons. I set my clubs down on their stands and head to the locker rooms with Ardun. I take a quick shower and am about to leave the locker room when I stop to check my reflection in the mirror and notice that I have a black eye. I look over at Ardun, who showered first and is now getting his clothes on. He has a bunch of bruises all over his back and a really nasty one on his shoulder. Good, at least he's worse for wear than me. I exit the locker room and advance to my home, which is only two blocks away from the Nut. As soon as I enter, my older brother, Boston, slugs me in the arm.

"What took ya so long, little bro?" he sneers. "Too many knocks on the head make ya forget what time it is?" I duck his remarks about the amount of time I spend training and trudge over to my room. Unfortunately, my room is on the opposite end of the house, so I have to listen to him yapping at me the entire way, which means going through the dining room, the kitchen, up the stairs, and down to the last door on the second floor. Boston jumps in front of me, blocking the doorway to the kitchen. "Too stupid to talk, Gingy?" He knows I hate it when I get called Gingy. He also knows that if I punch him, I will immediately get railed on by my parents. I brush past him and head up the stairs into my room.

On my way, I pass my older sister Vicky's room. She's just about as annoying as Boston. Her room is three doors down from mine, but I can still hear the dumbass music she blasts from the Capitol. I pound on the door and yell, "Turn that crap off, Vicky, nobody wants to hear it!" and I always get the same response: "Hey, dumbass, didn't you here? I had my name legally changed to Nobody!" I again ignore this, because nothing good ever comes from retaliating against my brother and sister. Mom and Dad had the picture perfect family with just those two. My brother was seven and my sister was four when I was born, and that shattered my parents' 'Two kids and a great house' fantasy. Most younger siblings have their parents wrapped around their little finger, but not me. My parents praise Boston and Vicky for the smallest endeavors. I bet they wouldn't even turn their heads if I became the mayor of District Two.

I walk into my room and grab my reaping clothes off of the bed and head to the bathroom, which is unfortunately right in front of Vicky's room.

Right before I reach the bathroom, Vicky swings the door to her room open, effectively cutting off my way to the bathroom as well as smashing my nose. I drop to my knees and clutch my nose as it sprays blood. I throw my reaping clothes behind me to save them from getting stained. My eyes are clenched in pain and I hear a snotty voice say, "Aww, did wittle Gingy get a booboo on his wittle nosey-wosey?" Vicky is hiding partially behind her door, but just enough so that I can't walk past her.

I glare up at my older sister. "Shud-shud ub, bitch, you dew I was cobing."

Her eyes widen and she gasps in mock surprise. "Gingy, that's a bad word! You shouldn't say things like that, that's vewy naughty. You could get in biiiiiig twouble."

I stand up suddenly and raise my left fist, and Vicky flinches. Despite the fact that Mom and Dad harp on me for anything I do to my siblings, I sometimes lose my temper. "Juss led be dake a shower, Bicky."

She looks at the bathroom door and again gasps in mock surprise. "Oh, you were gonna take a shower?" a sinister grin crosses her face. "I didn't know you could do that all by yoursewf, good job, Gingy-Wingy!"

At this I snap. I jump up and shove Vicky's door right back at her. It knocks her back and she doubles over in pain from the doorknob hitting her abdomen. Her head flies up and she glares at me. "Yo-you asshole!" She hobbles back into her room.

I look at my clothes and realize that I can't pick them up because of the blood on my hands. Reluctantly, I stand up and walk into the bathroom. I leave the door open and keep my eyes on Vicky's room. Just as I'm drying my hands, her door cracks open and she sneaks out. Quickly she slams the door to the bathroom with a wicked smile. I shout, "Hey!" and start towards the door with my hands in the towel. I fall over, and by the time I get the door open, I see Vicky dash into her room with my reaping clothes. She tries to slam her door shut, but I grab the doorknob before she can. I throw the door open and it resounds with a large _crash! _Vicky screams and drops my tie. I stomp past it and backhand her across the face. She releases her grip on the rest of my clothes and flops onto her bed. I pick up my tie and the rest of my clothes and step out of her room. Before re-entering the bathroom, I see my father, Matthias, standing there with his arms crossed.

"Gore," he starts to speak, but I ignore him and slam the door to the bathroom shut behind me. I shower quickly, knowing that the reapings start soon. I haven't forgotten, even with Vicky stealing my clothes. I turn off the shower, dry off, and throw on my reaping clothes: a simple pea-green dress-shirt and matching tie. I pull up my pants and head to the door. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and look left to see my father standing at the stairs, the same as when I started my shower. He starts to say something else, but he saves it as I walk past him down the stairs. My face is a grimace of hatred for my siblings.

When I get downstairs, my brother Boston saunters up to me and smiles devilishly. "How's it goin' up there, baby brother?" I bypass him and head straight out the door. Upon arriving at the town square, a Peacekeeper pricks my finger and I enter the eighteen-year-old section. As the mayor, Pontius Grewman, gives his speech, I muscle my way up to the front of the section. Mayor Grewman gathered the funds to build the second training center, so it's difficult not to like him. He occasionally visits the youth training section and shows the littler ones some pointers. Every time he comes by, I do my best to impress the mayor, because when I do, I actually get some recognition for it. He even asked me to lift a particularly heavy block to impress the kids, and of course, I did. I love being admired. The kids' eyes widened when they saw me lift the 200 pound block above my head.

Mayor Grewman finishes his speech and I'm pulled away from the haze of memories. The district escort, Amneeta Bendoli, pulls out the slip of paper containing the female tribute's name. "Valeria Lockhearst!" she screams. A tall sixteen-year-old girl makes her way up to the stage, and as soon as she reaches it, the escort asks for volunteers. I look over to the girls' side to see a girl my age head up to the stage. I wish we could hurry things up and get on to the guys. The girl steps up to Amneeta, and the escort asks, "And what might your name be, young lady?"

She directs the microphone at the girl, who says, "My name is Jecili Davini."

Amneeta requests a round of applause for Jecili, and the district answers. I cheer along with them, but only because the male tribute is next to be announced. Amneeta teeters over to the boy's bowl and plunges her hand in. She pulls out the slip and I can barely keep from shooting towards the stage.

"Voss Czaikov!" She holds the slip up and the person right in front of me at the back of the seventeen-year-old section heads over to the stage. Voss steps up next to Jecili, and Amneeta asks if there are any volunteers. Before I can say anything, a shrimpy twelve-year-old kid dashes up the stairs. Amneeta is taken aback, but quickly regains her composure and says, "What might you be doing, young man?"

The boy jumps up and retrieves the microphone. "I'm volunteering! My name is Hudson Dashiel, and I'm going to win the Hunger Games!"

I almost burst out laughing at this. Obviously nobody informed him of the rule that kids fourteen and under can't volunteer here. I look at Hudson to see that Amneeta is informing him of this rule right now. I then look at the side screens, which have zoomed in on Hudson's face. He's greatly embarrassed and his ears are a bright pink. He stomps down to return to his section, and Amneeta faces the crowd again.

"Any more volunteers that are of age," she says as she looks at three thirteen-year-olds who jokingly raised their hands to volunteer. I immediately shoot my hand into the air.

"I volunteer!" I begin to shove my way into the center aisle. These people obviously recognize a future victor of the Hunger Games when they see one, so I'm able to part the crowd with relative ease. I sprint towards the stage as quick as I can so that nobody can beat me to it. Nobody else volunteers. I reach the stage and the district escort asks my name, to which I reply, "Gore Sardi."

She then raises our arms and says, "Let's have another round of applause for your tributes this year: Jecili Davini and Gore Sardi!" The cheering ensues, and I'm enveloped in pride. I raise my other fist in triumph and then pound my chest with it twice. I'm not sure why, it just felt right. All of these people, cheering for me, it feels amazing. "_This is what I'm going to come back to; this and a nice house in the Victor's Village."_ I turn my head to look at the Victor's Village, the tops of the houses reaching over Justice Building. I want more than anything to live in the Victor's Village, away from Boston and Vicky, and away from my parents.

The crowd keeps cheering as we are escorted into the Justice Building. I sit down in a recliner, and nobody comes in at first. After a couple of minutes, however, Ardun and my trainer, Taurus, comes in. "Kid, you looked like a freakin' Rocky Balboa up there."

Taurus is always making references to ancient fighters from the days before Panem like Rocky or this really old guy named Leonidas. Personally, I couldn't care less about these guys. They're dead, and I don't see the point in studying people who've been worm food for the past few centuries. That goes for pretty much the majority of schoolwork. Anything that doesn't help you survive in the Games is a waste. Taurus snaps his fingers in front of my nose.

"Hey!" he barks. "You listening, Gore?"

"Yeah, yeah, um listenin'." I mumble, dragging my attention back to my trainer.

"Good, 'cause this is the last piece of advice I've got for you before you head for the Capitol, then you're on your own. Don't trust the chicks from the other districts. If you haven't noticed already, the girls from other districts have seduced many of guys from opposing districts to get them to help them survive. You gotta keep focused. Stick with the Careers, and don't show any mercy when you guys come across a tribute. Never have your back facing the rest of the pack, especially when the numbers start to drop. I see it all the time. Only about nine or ten tributes left, tensions get high, members of the pack start seeing the other members as a threat, so when the most formidable foe has their back turned, they take him out of the picture. You got me? You're the formidable foe in this one. That Jecili girl?" He jabs his thumb behind his back. "Pfff. Won't survive five days. Now you? You got the strength and the muscle to last 'till the end."

"Brains, not so much." I turn my head to look at Ardun, a big grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, you shut your face, Ardun. I got plenty of brains." Taurus raises a finger.

"Now hold on, Gore, Ardun has a point. You've got the muscle to take out any tribute out there in the arena, but when it comes to smarts, eh, you're a bit lacking. That's why I said you need to pay extra attention in there. Those Careers with the brains, they'll be seeing you as an expendable, I can guarantee it."

"But, I can smash them, right? That should make them afraid of me." I ask, unsure of what he's getting at. "What're you talking about, expendable? I'm the strongest tribute District Two's ever seen! I could turn Cato from the 74th Hunger Games into a pipe cleaner!"

Taurus sighs. "That may be true, but still, you need to be on your guard." As soon as Taurus finishes his sentence, two Peacekeepers burst in and start dragging him away along with Ardun. As he's being pulled away, Taurus says, "Oh, almost forgot!" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out come old cloth. "Your district token!" he throws the cloth onto the floor and the door shuts behind him. I get up and walk over to the cloth. Crouching down, I pick up the cloth, and I immediately recognize what it is that I'm holding. What I thought was one cloth is actually two separate pieces of cloth. These are the bands I've used for training every day at the Nut. I don't know why Taurus thought these would be something I need; there's probably tons of training bands at the capitol. I shrug and put the bands in pocket. Before I can stand up, the door swings open without warning, and it hits me in the temple.

"Gawh, what the hell?" I protest, and then I look up to see my family walk in. Boston was the one who opened the door, followed by my parents and then Vicky. Seeing me on the floor clutching my head, Boston and Vicky start laughing their heads off. My dad just shakes his head and my mom just ignores the fact that I'm even on the ground. I glare at my older brother and stand up. "Yeah, real funny, Boston." He smirks and leers back at me.

"Well, I'm sorry, Gore, didn't see ya there directly in front of the door. Not my fault you decided to get your head caved in before the Games even start." Vicky chuckles and I glare at her. "What? Didn't you get enough enjoyment out of slamming my face in earlier today?"

Vicky pretends to be surprised. "Whatever could you be talking about?"

"You know damn well what." I spit back, and my dad intervenes.

"I'll tell you what I saw. I saw you walk out of Victoria's room, and when I went in she had a slap mark on her face. Care to explain that, Gore?"

My dad is staring deep into my eyes, but I can see in my peripherals that Vicky and Boston are hardly able to control their laughter. I return my focus to my dad and say, "Yeah, yeah I would." I point at Vicky. "Vicky stole my clothes for the reaping after I went into the bathroom to wash the blood from my nose off of my hands. Yeah, that's right, she also gave me a bloody nose by throwing her door into my path."

Dad turns to Vicky. "Is this true?"

"Of course not, Daddy, why would I do anything like that? Let me tell you what really happened." I cringe and resist the urge to strangle her as she begins to spin her web of lies. "I was going to take a shower before the reapings, so I gathered up some clothes and opened my door. When I stepped out, Gore was on the ground rubbing his nose. Seeing him there, I set down my clothes and said, 'Gore, are you okay?'" Vicky sniffled and looked up at my father again. "And then, he jumped up and shoved me onto the wall for no reason!" her story is so fake that I just want to scream and bash her lying little face in, but of course, my parents are believing every word.

"Gore, how could you do that to your sister when all she wanted to do was help you?" asks my mom, Laurena.

"I didn't do it, she's lying!" I direct my hand towards Vicky. My mom gets an astonished look on her face.

"Gore!" she scolds. "Victoria wouldn't lie about something like this!"

Finally, I can't take it. My mother starts to say something else, but I raise my hand and silence her. "Do you know why I volunteered? To get away from you. You four have treated me like shit since I was born because I ruined your 'perfect family picture'. Boston and Vicky are free to insult and torment me as much as they want, and if I fight back at all, it's automatically my fault. You guys never punish those two," I shout, pointing at my siblings, "and I'm sick of it." And with that, I step towards the door to the entrance to the train. Before getting on, I stop and turn around. "When I get back, I can guarantee you that none of you will be associated with me. Try to come near me in any way, and you'll see a big fat restraining order right in your face." I swivel back to the train entrance and step inside, letting the door automatically close behind me.


	6. District Three: Testing, Testing, 123

**Author's Note: Sorry this wasn't up on Christmas, I had planned on finishing by then, but, you know, it was Christmas. So anyway, Merry Christmas everybody, this is my (unfortunately) belated gift to all of you.**

District Three Reapings: Neuma Alazechen

The box hits the floor, and with that, my chances of getting away are practically ruined. Curse my clumsiness! I cringe and tiptoe faster down the hall. Noise starts to come from my parents' room, so I pick up the pace even further. Just as I'm about to rush down the stairs, my mother, Joules, pokes her head out. I turn to face her, and have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing. Her hair is done up in curlers and she even has a botanical mask on over her face. Classic, Mom.

"Neuma!" she whispers loudly.

"Yes?" I groan.

"It's-"

"Three in the morning, yes."

"Go back to bed!"

"I was… getting a snack," I say slowly.

"You can wait, now get to bed."

I sigh. "Ok, I'll go back to bed." I stand there at the top of the stairs for a few seconds and she gets a look on her face that says she's not impressed.

"Now."

"Ugh, fine." I walk back to my room and my mom watches me until I reach the box that hit the floor. I pick up the box and put it back, then continue on my way. My room is littered with extra clothes all over the place. I let out an annoyed sigh because I know my dad, Cornelius, will make me clean it once he wakes up. Honestly, I don't understand the connection between a spic-n-span house and Reaping day, but my dad insists that everything needs to be immaculate.

I turn back towards the door. My mom should be asleep in about ten minutes. If I go back to bed, I won't wake up until around 8:00. I look around at all the clothes on the floor. I should be able to put them away in ten, maybe fifteen minutes. After dragging it into the middle of the floor, I begin to throw all the dirty clothes into the hamper. Soon, the hamper is full past the top, and I've still got a big load of clothes in my arms. I set them on top of the already large pile and push them down until I can shut it.

I drag my hamper back to the corner of the room and look at the mirror next to it. My sweat shirt ripped where the box caught on it. I pull off the sweatshirt and examine the hole. It isn't bad, but it's cold at 3:00 in the morning in District Three. I shove that sweatshirt in with the rest of the dirty clothes and scoot over to my dresser, then take out a faded green hoodie and throw it on over a white t-shirt to hide my figure. It isn't like I've got an unsightly body. My frame is fairly athletic, I have good skin, and an ample pair of breasts - I just prefer not to have people ogling whenever I'm around. Unlike my sister Rosa, whose obsessions include clothing, makeup, and grabbing boys' attention, I just like to hang out with my friends.

I creak open my door, tiptoe down the hallway, down the stairs, and nimbly make my way to the front door. Just as I step out of the house, a hand clamps over my mouth. I jab my elbow into my assailant's stomach and I hear "Oof!" The hand leaves my face and turn around to see my friend Buzz Currnet clutching his stomach and my other friend, Finchy Banner, stifling his laughter. I figured it was Buzz behind me. Finchy wouldn't try something like that because he's actually smart enough to remember what happens when I'm surprised like that. Finchy is about an inch or two shorter than me, with curly, dark blond hair and blue eyes full of laughter. Buzz is stocky and taller than me, with a brown flat top haircut and brown eyes.

"Dude," Finchy says, "I told you she'd do something that that!" He laughs some more and Buzz punches his shoulder. Finchy turns his head towards me. "Why are you so late?" he asks. "It's 3:30 already!"

"I know that," I reply. "Mom got me a bit delayed."

"You know what else was delayed? Your reaction time." I furrow my brow.

"Wadaya mean, my reaction time?" He's asking for a slug in the arm.

Finchy shrugs his shoulders and smiles. "Took you an awful long time to jab Buzz in the ribs. If that were me, I'd have pickpocketed you so much that by the time you got loose, you'd be standing around in your underwear!"

I smile back and raise my eyebrow. "You'd take my clothes? Pervert."

He backs up and shakes his hands. "No, I-"

I laugh at his discomfort, and he realizes that I was only joking. He looked scared to death when I made that last remark, and now he just looks annoyed. Finchy and Buzz are the two exceptions when it comes to flirting. It's priceless to see their faces when I tease them like that, mainly because I know they like my body. I still hang out with them, though, even if they do occasionally stare. Unlike a large amount of the boys in District Three, Finchy and Buzz are decent enough to not try anything stupid (Plus, they know I'd beat them up if they did). "So are we going to head out, or what?" I ask, impatient to get started.

"Yeah, let's head out, Finchy." Buzz says. Finchy holds up his hands.

"Now just hold on a second, I think I dropped a contact."

I roll my eyes. Finchy doesn't have contacts; that's just his excuse for wanting to wrestle. That's fine, I'm always open to a wrestling match, but today, we've got an agenda. This doesn't transfer well into Finchy's brain. The kid really just likes to play around. I sigh in resignation. "Ok, Finch, we'll help you look for your contact."

"We?" Finchy and I look at Buzz and he shakes his head. "I ain't gonna be in this one, guys." He gestures to his outfit: A lime green polo and khakis. "These are my reaping clothes, and I don't want to know what my mom would do if she saw me get reaped in a dirty polo."

We laugh - Buzz's mom is Mayor Ekko's housekeeper, so she always has to have everything clean. She's like my dad on reaping day, except all year. I tuck my brown, wavy hair into my hoodie and pull up the hood so that he can't grab my hair, then get down on my knees to help Finchy look for his "contact". I'm barely even on the ground before Finchy jumps at me. We wrestle around for a while until I've got him in a full nelson.

"Ok, *cough* you win!" I smile and push his head down further.

"You know the rules about tapping out."

"Yeah, I know, I know, just got off me!" We stand up and dust ourselves off. Finchy looks at me with a pleading look, and I grin at him in a malicious yet friendly way. He reluctantly turns around. The penalty for giving up in a fight is the opponent gets to run their fingers down their back, which feels like an icicle is getting dragged over your skin. It's a proper reward for the winner; all three of our backs are extremely ticklish, and it's extremely funny to hear the shudders of discomfort when the fingers make their wayward path down, although I think the main reason they like to do it to me is because I have to unhook my bra strap.

I take my time dragging my fingernails down Finchy's back, occasionally plucking my fingernails on particularly sensitive spots I've found over the many times I've beaten him. Eventually, I stop, and the three of us head off to the town square. It's raining lightly, so there's noise covering us, giving us the ability to sneak under the stage unnoticed. Once we get to the back of the stage by all the sound equipment, Finchy goes to work. We plan on making this reaping a little more interesting. Buzz and I keep watch while Finchy messes around with the sound system. I look over my shoulder for a second and Finchy is twisting a ton of dials and pressing buttons like mad. I have no idea what he does when he works on sound, but whatever it is, it's good. Finchy is a wizard when it comes to sound systems.

My heart rate quickens as I keep watch for Peacekeepers. We could get into major trouble if we were to get caught, especially since it's the day of the reaping. I remember the Head Peacekeeper's face when he was whipping a boy for stealing a loaf of bread after the reapings. He only looked about ten years old, the boy, but he got a full scale whipping, right in front of everyone.

Thankfully, no Peacekeepers show up. Finchy pulls a flash drive out of the main computer and gives Buzz and me the 'ok' sign with his fingers. I give him a thumbs-up and the three of us hurry away from the town square. We reach my house and I say goodbye to my friends. I shut the door behind me carefully and tiptoe up the stairs. My parents' room is just to the right of the top of the stairs with the bathroom at left, so I have to pass those rooms along with both my sisters' rooms to get to my own at the end of the hallway. As I pass the bathroom, I hear my parents' doorknob jostle and quickly turn around and act like I was going to the bathroom. The door opens and it's my father. He gives me a very confused look through his thick spectacles.

"Neuma?"

I stop and turn around. "Yes?" I say nervously.

"Why are you up? Your mother told you to go to sleep."

"Yeah, uh, I… had to go to the bathroom."

"And is it common for you to sleep in jeans?"

He looks at my legs and I look down as well. Oh, crap.

"I, uh, didn't know I was wearing jeans." I fib.

He raises his eyebrow. "Really." He says, not buying it.

I nervously start to fidget and creep into the bathroom while trying to cover myself. "Yeah, uh, love to talk Dad, but, uh, gotta pee. Bye!" With that I shut the door behind me and breathe a big sigh of relief. I stay in there for about two minutes, flush the toilet in case Dad is still waiting, and go back to my room.

When I wake up, it's 8:14, which means I'll be the last one to shower. I hate being the last one in the shower because my sisters, Rosa and Barda, take forever-especially Rosa. The girl takes forty minutes, easy. By then there's only about five or six minutes of warm water left. We aren't among the poorest in the District, but we don't exactly live the most luxurious life, either. We don't own a computer or anything else fancy like a microwave or a dishwasher. My mom washes our clothes in a huge bucket outside and hangs them out on a line next to it (To my sister Rosa's great dismay). Rosa hates having her clothes hung up to dry because she doesn't want people seeing all that. I'd never say it to her face because she tells on pretty much anything I do, but whenever she whines about her clothes being put out, I mutter, "Why should you care? You show it off, anyway." Her underwear shows itself past the waistline of her pants about 80% of the time, and her tops are so low her chest practically jumps out to say, "Hey, how's it goin, nice ta meetcha!"

There's also only one bathroom for the five of us, so that gets annoying. Very. Annoying. In addition to taking forty minute showers, my sister's makeup has to be flawless every day or she gets into this insufferably pouty mood. She complains about practically everything she can; even if she's going out to buy more makeup.

I connect to my older sister, Barda, a little better. She enjoys wrestling about as much as I do, maybe a little more. Anything that goes into the stereotypical woman, Barda is the opposite. Sure, she has long, brown hair and the biggest chest out of the three of us but other than that, she doesn't act very feminine, at least not a stereotypical way. She loves wrestling, working out, being sweaty, and for some reason, math. Unlike Rosa, Barda usually wears a t-shirt and jeans; similar to me, but less self-conscious about her chest. She was friends with the District's newest Victor, Pyre Tael, too. They hung out a lot before he was reaped, but ever since, Pyre has pushed everybody away. He just sits in his house in the Victor's village, not letting anybody see him. He won't even see his parents.

I pull on the jeans and the t-shirt I wore a few hours ago and grab a scarlet hoodie and some underwear from the closet. As I head out the door, I notice that an article of clothing draped over the chair by my desk. I toss the hoodie and the underwear onto my bed and walk up to chair. A forest green skirt stares at me, and my face curls up in annoyance. I hate skirts, and dresses, and frills, and all otherwise girly things. Looking at the skirt, I know that my mother set it there for the reapings; I just never noticed it until now. I sigh heavily and carry the skirt along with the underwear I grabbed into the bathroom, take a quick shower, and try to squeeze into the dress. I'm not fat, my body just likes to fight dresses. Good job, body, at least you're on my side.

My parents and my sisters are already at the table when I get downstairs. We eat our breakfast quietly because there really isn't anything to talk about on reaping day except for the cleaning that needs to be done once we all get back, provided that we do. People don't take tesserae very often in District Three because of the low population, so the odds typically aren't in favor of the older kids in the district. I don't take any tesserae, but I've still got my name in the jar five times. That puts me more at risk than most kids in District Three. My sister, Barda, is eighteen. She's only two years older than me, but she has her name in the bowl more than 85% of the kids in the district, and _she _doesn't even take tesserae.

We head to the town square as a family, and then my sisters and I split into our different sections. Thankfully, it isn't raining. I look across the center aisle at Finchy, and he nods towards me and waves a little black box. It's the remote he showed Buzz and me when he was done working on the sound equipment. The plan is to completely humiliate the district escort by messing up everything he says. The buttons on Finchy's remote can do a variety of things, like change the frequency of the microphone so that the escort's voice fluctuates from a baritone to a three-year-old girl in two shakes. He told Buzz and I about every button on the remote except for one big black one, which he says is a surprise.

Finchy whistles and I look over again. He and Buzz are snickering, and Finchy models out a feminine figure with his hands, which shows the maturity I had mentioned earlier. I make a face at them and turn my attention back to the stage.

Mayor Winter makes his way out onstage, followed by the district escort, Spark Ekko. The man looks like he took the time to stab every outlet in the district with a butter knife. His hair is spiked up with waves of black, ochre, brown, and white stacked on top of each other in jagged waves of static with tinges of oranges igniting the tips. His suit follows the same bright pattern: black, ochre, brown, white, and orange. The ends of the suit are notched as well, as if they are trying to live up to the escort's name: Spark. The lapel is white and cut in the same craggy fashion as the rest of his clothes. His entire ensemble could be summed up as a bolt of lightning. He has dyed his face yellow this year, with red circles on his cheeks, and sky blue contacts.

The mayor finishes his speech about the history of Panem, and Spark takes the microphone. I look back at Finchy. He grins and nods his head towards the stage. I look up there to see Spark chattering away on the microphone. "…with the boys this time, for a change." He prances up to the boys bowl. "This year's male tribute from District Three is…" he draws out the last world to build suspense. I glance quickly back over to Finchy, who's about to press a button on the remote. Spark moves his lips and Finchy jams his finger on a button. "Krrps Nrrtrrerrm." Instead of the usual electrified, hyperactive voice I'm used to hearing, a deep, bass voice exited Spark's lips, like somebody slowed his vocal chords down by 800%. Quiet titters went out among the people of the district and Spark covered his mouth, embarrassed. I chortle quietly, and I see Finchy and Buzz having great difficulty keeping it together.

"Ahem." Spark's voice returns to normal. "Could the male tribute come up, please?" everybody looked around, unsure who the tribute is. "Would Krrps Nrrtrrerrm crrm rrp trr thrr strrg? Rrr mrrr!" Spark's eyebrows clambered up his forehead and I let out a cheerful burst of laughter along with the rest of the district children who were having trouble suppressing their mirth. Buzz is laughing openly now, and Finchy turns a dial on the remote. "This is so embarrassing!" Spark's voice now turns to a high-pitched squeak, as if he'd swallowed a chipmunk. "What- what is going rrn." His voice goes from the chipmunk back to the deep bass, and I just lose it, along with the rest of the district. People are openly guffawing at Spark's discomfort; Buzz is clutching his stomach. The girl next to me has tears streaming down her face, she's laughing so much. Spark slaps the microphone a couple times and brings it back to his lips and Finchy turns the dial again. "Is it working now?" Spark's voice goes back to the chipmunk, and finally, a Peacekeeper shuffles onstage with a second microphone.

Spark taps the microphone and says quietly, "Better?" With his voice returned to normal (Or at least, as far as normal goes in the Capitol), Spark continues where he left off. "Would Keps Notrium come up to the stage?" the people of District Three quiet down. "Keps Notrium? You have been selected as the male tribute for this year's annual Hunger Games!" a tiny twelve-year-old climbs the steps up to the stage. He's trying to act brave, but I can see from hear that he's quivering. Spark pats Keps on the shoulder, causing him to cough. "Let's have a shout for Keps Notrium!" The district is silent and the somber mood of the reapings returns.

Unfazed, Spark lights up his face with an overly cheerful smile and practically frolics over to the girl's basin. If he wasn't about to sentence a person to death, I'd think this was a comedy routine. He snatches a slip of paper from the bottom of the bowl and unfolds it. I glance over at Finchy again. He's got a gray remote in his hands this time. Oh, Finchy, you hilariously tricky bastard, you. Spark raises the microphone to his lips.

"_Pika Pikachu."_

…What?"

Spark blinks, surprised. He coughs into the microphone, and it shouts, "_Pika". _He taps it three times in rapid succession. "_Pi, pi, pi." _Spark jumps and holds the microphone away from his body like it was carrying sort of disease. The district starts snickering. Spark's face contorts into something I've rarely seen from a district escort: rage.

"_Pi pi pika! Pika! Pikachu! Pika pi! Pikachuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"_

I don't know what he's saying, but it's hilarious. Spark stopped his rant and looked around. Everybody is snickering quietly, trying not to laugh. The Mayor and Pyre are chuckling as well, and even Keps is laughing a little. The only people I don't see laughing are the Peacekeepers, but that's because they're most likely hollow shells devoid of all happiness. Spark begins to tell everybody off, but Finchy still has the microphone set on _Pika_. "_Pika pi, pika pika, Pikachu. Pi pikaaa!_" he shouts in exasperation.

Just let it all out, Sparky.

Finchy turns the microphone back to normal while Spark is in mid-sentence. "_Pikachu pika pika pi pika chuuuu…_even see why I even chose friggin' District Three to escort in the first… place…" He looks at the people in the district. He tugs at his lapel nervously. "…But, now I remember! It's because of the, uh wonderful people here, yes, that's right." Spark begins sweating profusely. I can see his face on the side screen; the red dots on his cheeks are starting to run. "YasminFeranzawouldyoupleasec omeuptothestageyouarethefema letributeinthisyear'sHungerGames!" He sputters. The girl who had tears streaming down her face from laughter acquires a startled look and walks up to the stage. I realize how close I was to being reaped, and immediately, the cheery mood I had just moments ago vanishes.

Yasmin walks up the steps and Spark has her shake Keps' hand. The tears of mirth I saw on Yasmin's face face turned to tears of anguish. "Let's hear it for this year's tributes!" Spark yells.

Finchy, Buzz, and I usually hang around Finchy's place after the reapings to add some fun to an otherwise somber day, so I head home to change into something that would allow that. I jog through the front door and am about to go upstairs when Mom stops me.

"Oh, Neuma," she quips, "Could you come here for a second?" I walk over to my mother and she smiles warmly. "You look lovely in that skirt, Neuma," she says, admiring the skirt. "Do you like it?"

I don't want to risk hurting my mom's feelings by saying I'd rather be wearing a burlap sack, so I just say, "Yeah, Mom."

"Oh, good, good, yes, good. I know you aren't very fond of dresses or skirts. I just figured you should look nice, you know, just in case you were-"

"Mom." I say sternly. I hate it when she worries about the reapings.

"I know, it's just-"

"Mom! It's okay! I didn't get reaped! Look!" I wave my hand in front of her face to show that I'm still here.

She smiles. "I know, sweetie." She rubs my shoulder. "Also, your father wanted to see you when you got home. I think he has your list of chores for reaping day."

I groan, having forgotten about reaping day chores. I trudge up the stairs, and my mom calls after me: "Sweetheart, where are you going? Your father is in his work shed!"

I shout back, "Going to change!" and keep climbing the staircase. I get to my room and wriggle out of the skirt. A couple of minutes later, I'm standing in my father's work shed in the red sweatshirt I had originally planned on wearing along with a pair of jeans and some good running shoes. My dad is vacuuming up a ton of sawdust, so he doesn't hear me come in. I tap him on the shoulder and he starts, but once he sees him he chuckles and shuts off the vacuum.

"Hey, Neuma."

I wrap my arms around him, pulling him in for a hug. "Hey, Dad." As tough and emotionless as I act normally, I wholeheartedly believe that there is nothing wrong with hugging your folks. "Mom said you wanted to talk to me?"

My dad pushes his glasses up his nose and smiles. He has smile wrinkles all around his cheeks and by his eyes. Although occasionally shy, my dad is a guy who loves smiling and laughing and having a fun time. "Yes, I wanted to talk to tell you that it's your favorite time of year again."

My eyes light up and I put on a cheesy smile. "Reaping day chores?" I ask, putting two thumbs up.

My dad swings his fist, matching my sarcasm. "Yeah!" He reaches behind him and grabs a slip of paper off a workbench. "Here's your list of things to do," he says. I look at the list: Laundry, dusting and vacuuming the family room, and beating rugs. I grin; this is going to take way less time than I thought. "Kay, thanks, Dad!" I say as I exit the work shed. You're welcome, honey!" he shouts back.

I finish the family room first because I don't feel like tackling the bigger stuff yet, then move on to rugs. I step out the sliding glass door to the backyard with an armful of rugs when my older sister, Barda, stops me.

"Hey, Neumes."

"Hey Barda."

"You got beating rugs?"

"Yep."

"I got mopping the kitchen. You wanna trade?" I look at Barda. She and I both know that beating rugs is much more work than mopping, but beating rugs is more fun, too. I mull it over in my head, then agree to let her so that I can get done with chores and over to Finchy's quicker. I mop the floor and then move to the last item on my list: laundry. I'm not one for laundry, but it's better than bathroom duty. I take a few baskets out back to wash them and go to work.

I'm almost finished; just one more load to go: Rosa's clothes. I save these for last because I want to avoid touching my sister's clothes for as long as possible. I get about halfway through them load when Rosa comes outside as I'm hanging up one of her bras.

Joy.

She shrieks in terror and rushes over to me. I shield my eyes from her bouncing bust. "Jeez, Rosa, I don't want to see that! Put those away!" I joke, and she screws her face up in anger.

"Well I don't want to have people seeing my underwear on display! Why did you hang it up the farthest from the house?" she demands accusingly.

"Because this is where the next open spot is," I reply. "There was no more room next to your G-strings." I jab my thumb over to the other end of the line where a row of Rosa's underwear hangs fluttering in the breeze.

"Ugh!" she grunts angrily and then stomps back inside. Barda, still beating rugs, peers over her shoulder, rolling her eyes at Rosa. I give an agreeing look.

Once I finish that load of laundry, I carry the basket back into the house and set it by Rosa's room. I then exit the house and jog over to Finchy's place.

We play one on one football until Buzz shows up, and then, switch to three-way capture the flag. after we finish up our fifth game, we head inside for some snacks. We go recline down in Finchy's den. Buzz and I take the couch while Finchy sits in his favorite beanbag chair. He's the only kid I know who has one. Finchy's dad is the general manager of a company in District Three that specializes in animatronics or something else like that, so his family is one of the wealthier ones in the district, so they can afford things like beanbag chairs.

"I almost had you, you know," Buzz says to Finchy. Finchy had evaded a last minute tackle in our final game of capture the flag, resulting in a win for him and a loss for the other two teams (Two guesses who they are). We never go two on one because none of us are good enough to do so, so whenever we play capture the flag, the three of us just split up into three separate teams.

"Mhm, just like you almost won," Finchy shoots back.

"Oh, you're asking for it now!"

"Haha!" Finchy laughs, then Buzz tackles him. I just roll my eyes and eat some chips as I watch my two friends wrestle each other. Buzz eventually gets Finchy pinned to the floor, and I stand up and shout, "Pin! And the winner is, Buzz Currnet!" I pick up Buzz and raise his arm. "How ya doing down there, Finchy?" I ask, bending down to speak to the boy lying on the floor. He gives a tired thumbs-up and Buzz and I laugh.

"Twice in the same frickin' day," Finchy mumbles.

"Yep, and you know what else?" I say, smiling devilishly.

"What?" he says. He turns his head and his eyes go wide. "Oh, oh no, no no no, not again, aw come on!" Finchy tries to squirm away but Buzz sits on him. Buzz drags his nails over Finchy's back for a couple of seconds, then lets the poor guy up. Finchy shudders. "You have got to stop doing that."

"Well, maybe if you'd actually win, you'd complain a little less," I say. Finchy looks at me.

"Is that a challenge?" I raise my eyebrow.

"Really? Right after losing to Buzz, you want to beat me?" I ask.

"Bring it, Neumes," He says, rolling his shoulders. I shrug, then tackle him to the floor. We wrestle for about two minutes, and just as I've got Finchy on his back, ready to be pinned, he does something totally unexpected. He kisses me on the cheek. I sit there stunned for about two seconds, and Finchy gets a mischievous grin on his face. Before I can collect my thoughts, Finchy flips me over and holds me down.

_It was a trick! _My mind races as I struggle to get off my back, but Finchy holds me down and pins me. "That was a cheap move, Finchy," I growl, annoyed.

He laughs. "Maybe, but it sure did work! You should have seen the look on your face!"

"Priceless," Buzz says, arms crossed. "Your eyes were as big as dinner plates."

"You're hilarious, Buzz," I respond dryly. I try to get up, but Finchy holds me down. "Dude, what are you doing?" I ask as I struggle to escape.

"Your turn, Neumes. Turn over," Finchy says, motioning with his finger, telling me to roll over.

"I can't exactly do that it you're sitting on me, Finchy," I grunt. He gets off and I stand up and turn my back to them. I unhook my bra from underneath my sweatshirt and say, "Do your worst."

"If you insist." Finchy drags his nails along my back, and I shudder. This is not the greatest feeling in the world. I hate being ticklish. I look behind me at Finchy.

"When was the last time you trimmed those tiger claws? Jeezzzyyaah!"

"I dunno, while ago." Mercifully, he stops. "There. That's good enough."

I go sit on the couch next to Buzz and Finchy returns to his bean bag chair. We sit there in silence for about 30 seconds just eating chips. "So…" I say, breaking the silence.

"Sooooooo…" Finchy replies.

"Sooooooooooooo…" I say again. "What was with that last sound effect at the reapings?" Finchy smiles.

"Oh, that? I have no idea what it was." He scoots forward in his chair. "You know how the west side of District Three is mostly ruins from before the dark days?"

"Yeah…"

"Well you two had a bunch of homework one day and I didn't have anything else to do, so I decided to check it out. When I was looking through an old, collapsed house, I heard that noise I put into the microphone. It just kept repeating itself: _Pika pika! Pika pika!_ It-"

A loud knock at the door causes Finchy to stop his tale and look up. He goes upstairs to answer the door, and I follow him.

"Don't eat my chips, Buzz," I say, pointing at my bowl of chips.

"No guarantees, Neuma," he replies. Jerk.

I get to the top of the stairs and turn towards the door to see the Head Peacekeeper, Shane Lancer, standing in the doorway. My pulse quickens slightly. Why would the Head Peacekeeper be at Finchy's door?

_They obviously found out that Finchy was the one who messed with the sound, dummy!_

Shut up, self.

Shane glares down at Finchy. "Finch Banner?"

"That's my name," Finchy says casually. "How can I help you?"

"Mr. Banner, we have proof that you and two assailants programmed the microphones to play different noises when the district escort spoke. We have video of you infiltrating the sound system."

"Your point?" Finchy says. "It made the reapings enjoyable for once."

"The Hunger Games reapings are a joy to watch _without_ any extra delinquent input. But that isn't the reason for my being here. By being able to mess with the sound, you could have easily tampered with the names that were called."

"That's ridiculous!" Finchy protests, and Shane responds by backhanding my friend across the face. I run over and kneel by Finchy's side; his nose starts to bleed.

"You will not interrupt me!" the Head Peacekeeper shouts. He takes a deep breath and stares coldly down at us. "As punishment for tampering with the sound system, you will do the exact opposite of what you intended."

"I'm going to make next year's reapings really boring?" Shane responds with another backhand and Finchy cries out in pain.

"I have already made it clear that I am not to be interrupted!" Shane yells. "You are obviously not trustworthy enough to be taken to the Capitol." The Head Peacekeeper pulls out a coin. "As I said before, you will do the exact opposite of what you intended. You intended to protect yourself and your friends by rigging the reapings. Instead, you will now decide which of the two you will be sending to the Hunger Games." He shoves the coin into Finchy's hands. "Now flip the coin. Heads, the male tribute is replaced, tails, the female."

"And if I refuse?" Shane's mouth curls into a cruel smile.

"Then we will bring you to the Capitol in chains, allowed one meal a day of bread and a single glass of water until the Hunger Games, where you will enter in the male tribute's place. Oh, yes, your pretty friend here," he nods at me, "Will be joining you in place of the female tribute."

This is not good. Finchy stares at the coin, and all hope diminishes from his face. I help him stand and Buzz comes upstairs with a confused look on his face.

"Hey, Finchy, who's at the door?" I peer behind me and quickly shake my head. Buzz walks forward and looks up at Head Peacekeeper Shane. "Oh, you. What do you want?" Shane glares at Buzz.

"Your friend here is deciding who he wants to sentence to death." Finally, I've had it.

"Okay enough!" I turn to Finchy. "Don't flip that coin." I turn back to The Peacekeeper looming in the doorway. "I volunteer."

My two friends look at me in shock. Finchy is the first to recover. "What? No, Neuma, you can't do that! He turns to Shane. "I'll go."

I push him back and stand between him and Shane. "Dude, no! If you go, I'll have to come anyways! It's better like this."

"I'll go," Buzz announces, but I shut him down, too.

"No you won't. You two are going to stay here," I say, looking at both of them. Finchy looks like he wants to protest, but decides against it. Buzz just lowers his head. I put a hand on each of their shoulders and look them right in the eyes. "I'll be fine, you guys. You'll see; I'll be home before long, and we can get on right where we left off."

Finchy pulls a confused look on his face "Where did we leave off?" I smile, then plant a kiss right on his lips. "Ah," he says, his face turning red. "There."

I pull the two of them in for a big hug. "I promise," I whisper, so quietly that they are the only ones who hear. We break the hug and Head Peacekeeper Shane roughly pulls me away from them. After about two minutes of walking, I hear quickened footsteps coming from behind me, and I look back to see Finchy sprinting after us.

"Neuma!" he calls my name as he struggles to keep up. Shane quickens his pace. "Neuma!" he yells. "Neuma wait up!"

I turn to Shane, who's quickened his pace further still. "Would you slow down?"

"No."

Goodness he's annoying.

I strain my neck trying to look behind me. "Finchy!" I call out. At that moment, I realize that I must find out what he has to say, so I do something that could only be described as utter stupidity.

I bite down on Shane's arm. Hard.

Shane howls in pain, and I run over to Finchy. Before I can say anything, he hands me a bundle of green cloth. I begin to ask what it is, but Finchy already knows that's what I'm going to say.

"It's the flag." He immediately turns around and heads off back towards his house as fast as he can. At first I think it's just Finchy being random, but in fact, it's because Shane was practically on top of us. He picks me up by the waist and tosses me over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and I kick and scream and flail like a madwoman until we reach the Justice Building. There, Shane puts me down. Before I walk onto the train, he says with the upmost hatred, "I hope you die in that arena. I hope they let your body rot in there. I hope that once it has fully decomposed, your soul will burn in Hell."

Love you too, buddy-boy.


	7. District Three: A Trip to the Carnival

**Hey, everyone. Again, I'm sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. Instead of throwing a ton of excuses at you, I'm just going to be honest and say that I was a bit lazy with this chapter.  
****On a higher note, I am almost done with the next chapter. I hope to have it posted in less time that it took to post the last two chapters. Thanks for being so patient!**

District Three Reapings: Keps Notrium

I roll out of my bed and shuffle through the darkness of my room until I reach my little brother's bed. He sleepily pushes my hand away as I shake his shoulder to get him out of his slumber. "Gooway," he mumbles. I shake him harder.

"Den, it's me! Wake up!"

His eyelids flutter open and he squints at me. "Keps?" He asks. "What time is it?"

"It's 7:20 already." I shake him again. "Wake up!"

"I'm up, I'm up," he protests as he gets out of his bed. Den is ten years old, but he could easily pass for six or seven. The boy is four feet tall and weighs only 58 pounds. Of course, I'm not any better. Only two years older than my brother, I'm 77 pounds and only about 4'6". Den's nightshirt and pants hang from his body like the whispering branches of a willow tree. My brother and I are definitely malnourished. I've seen some of the wealthier kids in the district; their rotund bellies bounce merrily when they walk. It makes me jealous for a little while, but my brother always cheers me up by pointing out how funny they look.

Den and I make our way into the kitchen and sit down at the table. Our step-mother, Quolma, and her daughter, Petra, are already there.

"Good morning, Keps, Den. Good to see you guys up," Petra says sweetly.

I smile. "Good morning, Petra."

The kids I talk to around the district that have older sisters say that they're bratty or mean, but Petra isn't. She's nice to Den and me. The three of us get along pretty well, as long as Quolma isn't watching. Petra has always wanted younger siblings, but Quolma didn't like the idea of having more than one child because she's very afraid of the Hunger Games. There's a family in the district who has had four kids perish in the Hunger Games in the last ten years or so, and they still have three children eligible to get reaped. When I asked Petra why her mom didn't like us, she told us that Quolma is trying to distance herself from us so that if we get reaped, she won't feel as much of a loss. My father, Arnold, confronted her on this once, but she denied it.

Quolma looks at us. "It took you two long enough to get out of bed," she snaps.

"Sorry," I mumble. Den repeats my apology and stares shyly at the floor.

"You should be. Do you know how much heat costs?" she asks. We have a wood burning furnace and stove, but it's still difficult to find wood at a decent price, even though District Seven is just north of District Three. "Out of the good of my heart, I put another log in the stove just to keep your breakfast warm."

"Thank you, Quolma," I say drearily. Den murmurs his thanks as well and the two of us trudge over to the stove where our "breakfast" is waiting for us. Breakfast for Den and me typically consists of tasteless porridge and milk. I scoop myself about as much of the sludge as I can stand, then serve some up for my brother. After I sit down at the table next to Petra, I look back over to the kitchen to see Den quietly rifling around on the counter next to the stove. Quolma won't let us have anything to put in our porridge to make it taste better because it's supposedly a waste. I don't see how though; it's only a pinch of sugar that Den is looking for, I don't see how it can matter that much. I just hope Quolma won't notice him.

"Denniel!" So much for being hopeful. Den jumps. The spoon he was holding over his breakfast clattered to the floor. "Look what you've gone and done, a perfectly good spoonful of sugar, wasted! Go sit at the table with your breakfast," she quipped angrily, glaring at my brother while pointing at the table. Den picked up his bowl and sat down next to me. I hate it when she yells at him.

I'm about to say something to defend my brother, but Petra nudges me and shakes her head _"No." _I angrily dig into my breakfast, but then suppress a gag when it registers on my taste buds that I've scooped a heap of it into my mouth. I resist the urge to spit it out and swallow the gruel.

I choke down the rest of my breakfast and head back into my room to change. I put on the burgundy cable sweater and a pair of khaki pants I got for the reapings, then a pair of dusty black shoes. They're really old – they used to be my dad's – but I like them anyway, even if they do pinch my toes a bit. I'm just grateful I have these shoes because I know some boys in the district don't even have any. My friend, Vex, has one pair of shoes, and that's it.

Just as I lace up my last shoe, Den comes in, rubbing his eye, still tired. In the dim lighting of our room, he looks like a ghost. I pat him lightly on the back and say, "Get dressed, now, we need to leave soon."

"Mhm." He nods lightly and yawns. Seeing him yawn makes me yawn as well. That's the thing about yawning – it's extremely contagious.

I stumble out of my room and back into the kitchen. My dad is sitting at the table, reading a book. It's my mother's diary. I remember very little about my mom, and Den remembers hardly anything. Her hair was red, her eyes green, and her scent like fresh mint leaves. And her smile. My mom had the warmest smile I've ever seen. It was so full of love, I remember it being able soothe me no matter the situation.

Dad thumbs through her diary once in a while, usually when he's feeling down, and since this will be my first reaping, it's no surprise that he's reading the book. Reading what my mother wrote in that journal always takes my dad down memory lane, and usually, he stays there for quite a while. Whenever Quolma asks him about the book, he just shuts it and sighs, saying that it's just a childhood adventure book called "Yosh" that he would read to Den and me when we were littler. He'd tuck Den and me into bed and turn down the lamp in our room so that only a candle's worth of light flickered, then take his book and a chair and sit right next to the lamp and begin to read.

The book was about a man named Yosh. Yosh was a man who lived over a thousand years ago in an ancient place called Yiggis. He was a man with very strong hands and a great, big, beard. Everywhere he went throughout the land, the extraordinary would happen. Resources would become abundant and the people would suddenly become agreeable and friendly with one another, even if they were on the brink of war. A witch man once cursed a river in the town of Daiseldale to never flow again, but as soon as Yosh traveled through the town, the water came back. A great fire burned down a forest of trees outside of a lumber village called Locksbrooke, then magically reappeared overnight. Coincidentally, Yosh was spotted in the town close to Locksbrooke just two days afterwards. My favorite story, though, is the one about Yosh and the people of Bramden and Tuuk.

I walked over to Dad and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped a bit, then relaxed when he saw my face. "Oh, Keps," he said. "Good morning."

"Morning, Dad. …hey, Dad," I say, "Could you maybe tell me a story about Yosh? The first one, about Bramden and Tuuk?"

"It's almost time for the reapings, Keps, so I'm afraid not."

"Yeah, I know, that's why I want to hear the story again."

He looks at Mom's diary, then back at me. "Optimistic today, aren't we?"

"Dad, District Three is small. It's very small. I really don't think the odds are in my favor." My father frowns at me and stands up. He sets his hands on my shoulders and looks my straight in the eyes.

"Understand this right now," he says sternly. "I don't want any more of this negative thinking. Your chances of getting reaped are miniscule." He holds up two fingers with a tiny amount of space in between them. "That's how small your chances of getting sent to the Capitol are. That small. Does that look like that big of a chance to you?"

He looks warmly into my eyes, and I know he loves me. He loves me, my brother, my step-sister, and Quolma. I stare back at him for a few seconds.

"No, Dad, it's not that big." He lets my other shoulder go and sits down. "…Um, Dad?" He peers up at me.

"Yes, Keps?"

"Could I hear the story anyway?"

He chuckles. "I guess so, kiddo." The two of us go into my room and I take a seat on my bed. Dad sits on the chair like he always does and clears his throat.

"Lord Dilston was the ruler of Bramden, and during his reign, Bramden thrived. The people were happy and boisterous, their pantries full to bursting with food. Festivals and celebrations were common in the land of Bramden, and a great deal of credit goes to the relationship between Lord Dilston and the Ruler of the kingdom of Tuuk, Lord Valibust Locksley III. Their relationship was one that only the best of friends shared. The two had grown up together, and as each of them advanced to the head of their kingdoms, so their friendships grew ever stronger and shone ever brighter.

"The two kingdoms had parties every day, sometimes for days at a time, so they'd get backed up, and would have to keep dancing and singing until all the party plans were over. They would feast for days on cakes and pies and all sorts of wonderful and yummy snacks."

My stomach grumbles. Even though I've heard the story before, all the visions of all the food the people of Bramden and Tuuk are eating still make me hungry, especially since Quolma's porridge is not in any way filling. Dad smiles wryly at me.

"Still hungry, even after that wholesome and healthy breakfast your step-mother lovingly prepared for you?" Even though it's the only breakfast we can afford, my dad and I agree that it tastes dreadful. He laughs quietly to himself and continues the story. "As I was saying, the people of these two kingdoms would feast all the time, with hardly a care in the world, because they knew that their lords were keeping everything under control.

"Their good fortune wouldn't last forever, though. Lord Dilston had yet to produce an heir, and his wife was unable to have children. If Lord Dilston didn't have a son soon, the future of Bramden did not look bright, for as well as Lord Dilston and Lord Valibust ruled their estates together, it would be challenging at the very least to do so without one or the other.

"To make matters worse, the chief adviser to Lord Dilston, a cunning man named Count Bracchus, and the chief adviser to Lord Valibust, a skinny man named Count Kwote, aimed to turn the two lords against each other. Nobody knows why today, but the two were dead set on breaking apart the friendship Dilston and Valibust had. They told the lords lies about the each other. Kwote told Lord Valibust that Dilston was plotting to kill him in order to gain control over Tuuk, while Bracchus told Lord Dilston the same thing about Valibust.

"A fragile tension filled the air in Bramden and Tuuk. People slowly stopped the parties and the dancing, and there was less and less travel between the two estates. Neither lords wanted to speak to each other, preferring to have their advisers communicate for them. Count Bracchus and Count Kwote continued to chip away at the two lords until one day, a foreigner walked into Bramden. He had a big, brown beard that reached down to his chest and a brown cloak and hood that kept his face shadowed. He hadn't a pack, a satchel, not even the tiniest coin pouch. He had only a walking stick. He walked through town slowly without looking left or right even once until he walked straight up to Lord Dilston's keep where a guard stood.

"The guard marched up to him and put his hand in front of the cloaked man's face. 'Halt,' he said, and the man stopped. 'What is your business here in Bramden? Where are you from? Who sent you? What is the name of your lord? What-' The guard began to ask another question when the cloaked man looked up at him, silencing him.

"The man with the cloak spoke in a deep, powerful voice. 'I am from a place beyond the land of Yiggis,' he said, 'I travel alone, my motives are set by me, and my business in Bramden is an audience with your Lord, Lord Dilston. I am to speak with him immediately.'

"The guard was surprised by the forwardness of the man with the cloak. Nobody just demanded to see Lord Dilston! 'I'm sorry sir, but you cannot see Lord Dilston now. He wishes only to see his chief adviser, Count Bracchus.'

"The man with the cloak raised his walking stick and waved it in front of the guard's face. 'You will take me to Lord Dilston.'

"The guard's jaw went slack. 'I will take you to Lord Dilston,' he said, then turned around. 'Lower the drawbridge!' he yelled, and the drawbridge lowered and hit the ground with a soft thud. The guard and the man in the cloak walked inside the keep and up multiple levels of stairs until they reached Lord Dilston's throne room.

"The man in the cloak turned to the guard. 'Open the door,' he commanded. The guard complied and the man in the cloak walked into Lord Dilston's throne room. Nobody was in the room except for Lord Dilston, who was sitting at his throne. He looked very old and very tired. His beard was messy and his clothes were old. His eyes, sad, and his skin, sickly.

"The man in the cloak stepped forward. 'Lord Dilston.' Dilston looked up slowly. He said nothing. The man in the cloak continued forward. 'My Lord, your kingdom is deteriorating. The people have grown weary and sad, and you collaboration with Tuuk has become nonexistent.'

"Count Bracchus stepped out from behind a pillar and slinked over to Lord Dilston. "'This man is obviously out of his mind, my liege. I suggest that you send him away immediately,' he said in his weedy, slippery voice.

"'Stay your tongue, cretin,' the man in the cloak commanded. 'You've poisoned the mind of this man for far too long. I release you, Lord Dilston, from this sorcerer's hold.' And so, the man in the cloak thrust his staff forward. Lord Dilston shot back in his chair. His body went rigid. Count Bracchus summoned a black ball of energy.

"'You will never win, fool!' he shouted. Count Bracchus launched the ball of energy at the man in the cloak. The man whipped his staff towards the ball just in time, dispersing it just as it was about to hit him. The man's hood fell down revealing his face. The man in the cloak was Yosh.

"'Be gone, demon! I banish you from the land of Yiggis forever!' Yosh pointed his staff at Count Bracchus, and the evil councilor disappeared in a puff of smoke. Lord Dilston slumped over in his throne and the guard, who was hiding behind a pillar by the door the whole time, ran to support his leader.

"'Master, are you all right?' Lord Dilston waved him off.

"'I'm fine.' Dilston looked at Yosh. 'Count Bracchus…'

"'He is gone, but his accomplice, Count Kwote, still resides in Tuuk, poisoning the mind of Lord Valibust Locksley III. We must hurry if we are to reach them in time."

Just as Dad starts another sentence, there's a knock at the door. It's Quolma. "Arnold, the reapings start in less than ten minutes! We need to get out of here!"

My dad flashes me an apologetic look and gets up to open the door. "Alright, dear, let's go." Quolma rolls her eyes as if to say 'Finally!' The three of us gather up Petra and Den and quickly head off to the town square.

The five of us get to the reapings just as the last of the kids are filing in to their sections. Since it's my first time, I just follow Petra. She stops in front of a female Peacekeeper standing by a group of girls. The Peacekeeper asks Petra her name, then pricks her finger. Once the Peacekeeper lets her pass I step up to take her place in line. She peers down at me.

"What are you doing, kid?" she asks gruffly.

Did I do something wrong? I start to sweat. This is my first reaping, I don't know what I'm doing! I swallow the lump in my throat and lift up my finger. "Keps Notrium, age twelve," my voice quivers. The female peacekeeper crosses her arms.

"Twelve-year-old boys are up there." She points up towards the stage where a group of boys from my class is standing. "Now get moving!" She shoves me out of the line and I fall to the ground. My reaping clothes get caked with mud and I scrape my arm. Tears start to well up in my eyes as I pick myself up, but I force myself not to cry. I wipe the mud off my clothes the best I can as I shuffle quickly towards the other twelve-year-olds. Once I get there, a burly Peacekeeper looks down disapprovingly, but says nothing. He takes down my name and pricks my finger. It stings and again I force myself not to react. I sift through the kids until I find my friend Vex.

"Hey, Keps, what happened? Why are you so late?" he asks.

I shift uncomfortably. "I didn't know where to go, so I followed Petra. I figured since she's done this before, she'll know what to do. So she stood in front of the Peacekeeper lady and she pricked Petra's finger, then Petra went into the group of girls. I thought it was a little weird that there weren't any boys in there, but I stepped up to the Peacekeeper anyway, and then she looked at me with a mean look on her face! She shoved me into the mud and told me to come over here, so I did, and that's why I'm covered in mud."

Vex puts a hand on my shoulder. "That sucks, Keps," he says sympathetically. "You know, I really do hate how Peacekeepers think they're all high and mighty when really they're hated by everybody. I mean, who really likes those guys, anyway?"

I stand there and ponder his question for a moment. Are there people who actually care about Peacekeepers? I've never actually thought about Peacekeepers as real people before, but now that I think about it, I find myself asking these questions. All the Peacekeepers in Panem come from District Two, and they've got to have families there, right? I find my thoughts drifting over to the female Peacekeeper who pushed me down earlier. I just thought it was her being mean when she did it, but now that I think of it, she could be suffering just as much as anyone else right now. Who am I to judge the Peacekeepers?

I look over at the male Peacekeeper standing by my section. What if this guy has kids? Are they exempt from the Hunger Games? I quickly dismiss the thought. Garren Tyner of District Two won a few years ago and both of his parents were Peacekeepers. I bet that was terribly stressful for them to see their son in the arena, even if they were Peacekeepers.

My thoughts shift to the Head Peacekeeper, Shane Lancer. Could he possibly be hiding the pain of remorse behind his mask? Then I remember the public whippings. Every week, a whipping is held in the middle of town square for whatever unlucky soul happened to look at the Head Peacekeeper the wrong way. I shake my head at the thought of Shane Lancer being remorseful. Anybody who can laugh while whipping a child for accidentally running in front of them cannot be human.

I turn my attention to the stage where Mayor Winter comes out with the district escort, Spark Ekko, who looks like he spent the last few days swimming with electric eels. The mayor steps up to the podium and begins to talk about the history of Panem, the Dark Days, and how chaotic it was at the time. I heard from Petra that I didn't need to pay attention to the speech, but I do so anyway. Mayor Winter talks about the first uprising of the districts and how the Hunger Games first came into existence, then finished up his speech with a lecture on The Revolt of the Mockingjay and the civil disobedience of its head, Katniss Everdeen.

I wasn't alive during the rebellion, but just hearing about it makes me wish it had succeeded. My dad, when I asked him about it, said that he wished it had succeeded as well. District Twelve definitely got hit the hardest when the revolt failed, but the other districts certainly took a beating, too. There's still repairs being done in Three from the revolt, and according to Dad, the Peacekeepers have gotten twice as strict since. When I first heard this from him, I was actually a bit angry at the people who revolted. Because of them, they just made life super crappy for everyone in Panem. When I told my dad about my view, he didn't get mad, he just provided me with a new perspective.

_Those people that revolted did so because they wanted to make life better for everyone in Panem, not just themselves, Keps. If they had won, we'd be living in much better conditions than we are now. Be grateful they tried at least._

I guess my dad is right. At least they tried. If only they'd tried harder.

Mayor Winter finishes his speech and hands the microphone off to Spark. "Hello, District Three, it's _so _nice to see your smiling faces gathered once again for the greatest holiday of the year. Happy Hunger Games, everybody," He quips excitedly. A stony silence answers his overly cheerful greeting.

"Real happy, alright," Vex mutters. I snicker and look back up at the district escort.

"Let's start with the boys this time, for a change." He leaps over to the bowl containing the names of every boy in District Three from ages twelve to eighteen.

My name is in there three times. I wanted to get more tesserae, but my dad flat out refused to allow me to take more than I did. Spark pulls out a slip of paper and lift the microphone to his lips.

"This year's male tribute from District Three is… Krrps Nrrtrrerrm." It sounds like he's speaking in slow motion. I glance over to Vex and he looks at me with a confused face probably not unlike my own. Spark covering his mouth in embarrassment and peers down at the microphone. "Ahem." His voice returns to normal. "Could the male tribute come up, please?" I look at Vex again.

"Did you hear who it was?" I ask. He shakes his head 'no'.

"Would Krrps Nrrtrrerrm crrm rrp trr thrr strrg? Rrr mrrr!" I can't help but laugh at Spark's predicament with the microphone, and neither can the rest of District Three. Everybody starts chuckling at him as he shrinks in peril. "This is so embarrassing!" His voice sounds like he breathed in a bunch of helium. "What-what is going rrn?" It switches back to the deep pitch in midsentence and it throws the entire district into fits of laughter. Spark turns a noticeable shade of red under his yellow makeup. He hits the microphone in his hand a couple of times to get it to work. "Is it working now?" His voice switches once again to the high pitched tone. A Peacekeeper hurries onstage towards him with another microphone.

"Better?" he asks quietly, his voice returning to its normal tone. He picks up the slip of paper from the boys' bowl. "Would Keps Notrium come up to the stage?" My insides turn to ice. My eyes grow wide as I struggle to comprehend the words that just came out of the district escort's mouth. I am the next male tribute in the Hunger Games. "Keps Notrium? You have been selected as the male tribute for this year's annual Hunger Games!" The realization hits me like a wrecking ball to the gut. I command my legs to move towards the stage and force my tears back. My body is shaking from fear despite my best efforts to keep it still. "Let's have a shout for Keps Notrium!"

I can see my dad from the stage. He's sitting next to Quolma with his head in his hands. Quolma has a huge hat on, so I can't see her face. Petra is weeping at her place in the sixteen-year-old section. Vex is looking away from the stage.

Spark waits for volunteers, but nobody does. After a few seconds, he adopts an even cheerier look on his face as if the malfunctions with the first microphones had never happened and dances over to the girls' bowl. All the while, I just keep on repeating _I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, _over and over again in my head. I mean really, what chance do I have? People from Districts One and Two have trained for years waiting for a chance to get into the Hunger Games. The Careers could slaughter me in seconds!

My mental panic attack is interrupted by a sound I had never heard before.

"_Pika Pikachu!_"

I turn to see Spark cover his mouth in surprise. He pokes the microphone cautiously and it makes a "_Pi pi pi_" noise. What's going on now? Isn't this the second microphone? I dismiss my thoughts and turn my attention back to Spark who is having a hissy fit about the microphone. Or at least, that's what I assume he's yelling about; it's difficult to tell with the microphone turning everything he says into "_Pika pi Pikachu_." Despite my recent reaping, I snicker. It's funny to see the district escort freak out like this over a technical difficulty. Suddenly, the microphone returns to normal while Spark is in the middle of a rant.

"…even see why I even chose friggin' District Three to escort in the first… place…" Spark looks out among the people. He swallows and starts stuttering into the microphone. "…But, now I remember! It's because of the, uh wonderful people here, yes, that's right." He yanks his tie nervously and calls the female tribute up to the stage. I don't catch the name, but as I scan the crowd of girls, I notice people shifting around in the sixteen-year-old section. My heart stops when I see Petra move to get out of the group. She couldn't possibly get reaped! I'm about to burst into tears when I see Petra stop at the edge of the section to let another girl through. I let out a huge sigh of relief. She was just moving to let the girl out. The girl steps up the stairs and stands next to Sparks, who has us shake hands. I shake her hand tentatively. We're both shaking, her more than me. Silent tears stream down her face as Spark lifts our arms in the air. "Let's hear it for this year's tributes!" Spark yells.

The people are silent. The laughter that was so abundant during the technical difficulties is now nonexistent. Two Peacekeepers take the girl and me to the Justice Building as the national anthem plays over the loudspeakers. I look over my shoulder at District Three for what I'm certain is the last time, then the doors of the Justice Building are shut, condemning me to an almost certain death.

I stand in the middle of the room, looking around at the furniture until my first visitor comes in. It's Vex. He looks like he's been crying. I can tell he didn't want me to know because he's trying his best to act like everything's fine. As soon as he walks up to me, though, he just breaks down and sobs. I pull my best friend in for a hug as tears start to roll down my face as well.

"I'm losing my best friend," he says. "This sucks, Keps. You shouldn't be standing here, man! Neither of us should! It's our first reaping!" He lets go of my shoulders and breathes a big sigh. "You gotta win, Keps. I'm not ready to lose my best friend," he says. A peacekeeper barges in and grabs my best friend by the arm and starts dragging him away. Vex resists, hitting and kicking the officer with all his might, but his efforts are useless.

Once again, I am alone. I walk, zombified, towards a couch. As I sit down, the door opens again and my family comes in. All of them are in tears except for Quolma, who follows closely behind my dad, brother, and step-sister. Seeing them in tears makes me start to cry once more. Den and Petra sit down on either side of me and hug me while Quolma comforts my father.

"I don't want you to go, Keps!" my brother cries. "You're my big brother!" He turns to my dad. "Why does Keps have to go, Daddy? Why didn't another person volunteer for him?" Den stares at my father with big, sad, confused eyes. It's Quolma who answers my brother's burning questions.

"We all want to know, Denniel," she says soothingly. "We're all asking that question." She turns her head towards me. Her eyes are filled with sadness. "Keps," she begins slowly, "I know it may not seem like I care about you or Denniel. I've treated you like vermin since I married your father. I guess," she falters. "I guess I didn't want to get attached to you in case of a situation like this, but, now that I'm here..." She looks away and begins to cry, unable to finish her sentence. My dad kneels down and hugs his wife.

"What my mom is trying to say is," I look at Petra. She hasn't said a word since coming in through the door. "She couldn't help but care for you." Quolma nods her head 'yes'.

"It's more than that, Keps," my step-mom chokes out. "I realize now that my hope was foolish." She smiles and looks me in the eyes. "I can't help but love you." Quolma gets up and pulls me in for a hug, which I return. My father wraps his arms around the four of us and we sit there until the Peacekeepers come. After they drag my family out, I am left alone once more.

I'm left a bit confused by Quolma's burst of emotion. Quolma was always mean to me and my brother as we grew up. The caring she just showed me was really out of her character. She hardly even showed that sort of love to Petra!

Spark Ekko enters the room accompanied by two Peacekeepers before I can figure out why Quolma changed so suddenly. "Well, Keps, it looks like that's the end of your visitors! Let's hop onto the train now, shall we? We've got a wonderful time waiting for us at the Capitol," he says excitedly. I slowly lift my head to look at the district escort. He's absolutely jubilant, like he's about to take his kids to a carnival.

My dad told me a story about Yosh where he was at a place that had a carnival. There were boatloads of different types of entertainment. The star attraction was a lion's den where the ringmaster would throw scraps of meat at the lion and the lion would eat them for the audience's entertainment. Right now, I feel like I am a piece of meat about to be thrown at a lion, except the lion is the Hunger Games and Spark Ekko is the ringmaster. It makes sense, really. The Hunger Games is the Capitol's main source of entertainment. The escorts are the ringmasters, doing their best to attract the attention of as many spectators as possible. We tributes are the meat, thrown at the games purely to be consumed.

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I hope you take the time to review. I definitely want to know what you want to see more of. Thanks for reading!**

**-Vykktor**


	8. District Four: Crack!

District Four Reapings: Sheera O'Sheesh

My alarm clock tastes the thinly carpeted floor of my room and shatters. I force my eyes open, then look over the edge of my bed and assess the damage. There's no fixing that infernal contraption, which is fine; I hated that thing. I just don't know how I'm going to replace it.

I wriggle out of the covers and sit up on my bed. My muscles ache from the night before. I work out with my trainer, Bone Jumper, for about four hours every day, starting about an hour after dinner. Bone decided that yesterday would be pure conditioning, and since this is District Four, conditioning meant swimming. He had me swimming against the tide throughout the entire workout, so my muscles felt like lead by the time I got home. I was so tired, I just went to bed without doing anything else. I simply shed my swimsuit and went to sleep. I know some people, like my friend Krady, would balk at the thought of sleeping naked. I honestly don't understand that sort of thinking; especially if you have your own room, like I do. Now if I shared a room, that'd be a different story.

I roll out of bed and start picking up the pieces of my alarm clock when there's a knock at my door. Before I can say anything, the door opens and I frantically try to cover myself. My embarrassment turns to anger, however, when I see the person in front of me.

My brother, Walter, stands in the doorway, his eyes as big as dinner plates.

I glare, giving him every possible sign for him to get the hell out of my room, but he just stands there and stares at my breasts, mouth agape. "Enjoying the view?" I ask with as much venom as possible.

"Uhh… uh huh," he says dumbly, nodding his head up and down, as if he's completely forgotten that this is his _sister _he's gawking at.

Walter's only eleven months younger than me, but nobody would be able to tell just by looking at us that we're related. Walter is shorter than me by a good six inches, but that goes for a lot of people since I'm very tall; almost six feet. He has hardly any muscle on his pale body, whereas mine is sculpted to perfection. I've been told multiple times by multiple people that I look like a goddess with my golden-cacao skin, jet-black hair, and sea-green eyes. My response to the compliments people give me is always "I couldn't agree more", unless it's my brother who says it. Then my response is "Back off, creep."

Walter is a whole different ball of wax. His hair looks like somebody didn't like his hair being blond, so they threw a bunch of mud at his head until they got the color they desired. His eyes are the same muddy color as his hair. The thing I can't stand about my little brother, though, is the fact that he's the biggest pervert I know, and I've got some perverted friends. I've caught Walter peeping on me on multiple occasions; looking down my shirt, staring at my ass, all sorts of annoying and creepy things. He doesn't hide it, either. Being covert is not his specialty. I even found a camcorder in my room once, stuffed up in the closet in a horrible attempt at concealment. I couldn't prove it to Mom or Dad that it was Walter's doing, but I'm pretty much certain it was. Mom and Dad couldn't possibly imagine Walter being a pervert because he always acts like an angel around them. I've lost some of my parents' trust when it comes to my being truthful because of some things I lied about that were later found out. I won't go into detail right now, but obviously they were bad enough to make my parents skeptical of me.

I stand up and hurry over to him as best I can without uncovering anything and shove the little pervert out into the hall. I close the door so that there isn't enough room to allow him entry and stick my head out. He gets up off the floor and rubs his shoulder. I roll my eyes. "I did not push you that hard. You're such a wimp," I say.

"You're… you're naked," he states, craning his neck to see past my head. I turn my body away from the door as much as possible.

"Good observation, Captain Dumbass," I say sarcastically. "Now get out of here before I call Mom. You're lucky I don't beat the tar out of you." Normally, I'd settle for just beating Walter up, but there are two things standing in the way of that. One: I'm still naked. Two: I'm sore from conditioning. The kid is lucky I don't break his spine.

"But, why're you naked?" he asks, still trying to get a view.

"Oh well wouldn't you like to know, you little perv," I snap.

"Y,es, I would."

Ugh. This kid is such a creep. I cannot believe I'm related to him. "If I tell you, will you go away?" I ask, annoyed at his persistence.

"You come out here and tell me, then yeah, I'll go away." He smiles smugly; knowing that he's got me beat. I can't go out and tell him why I'm naked, that'll give him what he wants; an eyeful. If I shut the door, however, the consequences could be even graver. As much as my parents have found out regarding the things I've done, there are still plenty of secrets they don't have a clue about. Unfortunately, my brother found out one of them when he was spying on me one time. Walter saw me and my friend Krady Daedalus passing a bag of weed to a pothead a couple of weeks ago.

Krady told me one day that there was a guy who'd pay top dollar for some weed from District Four, and that the patch I had stumbled upon a few weeks ago would work perfectly. Yes, I stumbled upon it, as in I had no idea the stuff was there. Krady and I tried some just to see what it was like, but neither of us liked it. I thought it was nasty, at least. I think Krady was lying when he said he didn't like it. Either way, we decided to leave it alone. Once the pothead came into in the picture, however, well, I'll just quote Krady and say that we were "THCing some greenbacks in our future."

We made our delivery to the man, he gave us the cash, and we went our separate ways. When I got home, Walter was sitting on the couch in the living room, looking all smug. When I asked him why he was so happy, he told me that he saw me hand the drugs over to that pothead. As soon as he said this, I lunged at him. Just as I was about to send him off to dreamland, though, he raised a finger and told me that if I beat him up, he'd tell our parents about the drugs. So long story short, Walter has been hanging that little bag of dope over my head for about two weeks now, and I can't do a thing about it.

I look at my brother standing in the hallway with his arms crossed, waiting patiently. "So what's your decision, Sheera?" He asks in a sing-song tone that makes me want to tear his throat out. "We don't have all day, here, and I'm simply _dying_ to know what the cause is to your bold choice of sleepwear, or should I say, lack thereof."

I hate my little brother. He is the most disgusting, slimy, perverted being to ever walk this earth. And he's got me cornered. I hang my head, resigned to his will. "Fine, Walter. I'll tell you why I slept naked," I murmur. Walter leans in closer.

"Say again?" His face adopts a quizzical look.

I repeat myself, even quieter this time, and he leans in even closer, so that his is leaning against the door.

"What?" he asks. Instead of answering, I quickly bring my arm around the door and jab him in the abdomen, and he doubles over in pain. I drive my elbow into the back of his neck and he falls to the ground. Before he can recover, I knock him onto his side with the door, then knock the wind out of him with a kick to the stomach. I quickly dash into my room and throw a spare towel around my body, then head back to the hallway where my brother is still reeling around in pain. He flinches when I grab him by the hair and force him to look into my eyes.

"Now you listen here, twerp," I whisper fiercely, "You try this sort of stunt again, and I promise you that I'll be hurting a whole lot more than your stomach. Got that?" He nods feverishly. "Good." I let go of his hair and stand up. His eyes travel down my body and I quickly readjust my towel. "Keep those eyes in their sockets, creep," I growl.

I jump over my brother and head towards the bathroom. When I exit the bathroom after a quick shower, Walter is nowhere to be seen.

I head back into my room and shut the door. Just in case Walter gets any dumb ideas, I prop a chair against the doorknob. I pick up the remains of my alarm clock then head over to my closet to pick out my outfit for the day. As I rifle through my clothes, I see something hanging in the back of my closet that I don't recognize. I push through the various hangers adorned with my clothes until finally, a beautiful strapless dress comes into my view. The entire thing is a vibrant canary yellow, almost glowing in the pale light of my room. I stare at the dress for a few moments, marveling at its radiance, then take it off its hanger and try it on.

It fits me like a glove for my torso. The dress hugs me nicely, showing off all my attractive curves. I pose in the mirror for a while, flipping my coal-black hair and batting my eyes at an imaginary Capitol sponsor. The people of the Capitol will love me for sure. I mean, my own brother can't even stop looking at me. I swivel around and head back to my closet to find a nice pair of shoes to go with my dress, and once I find a pair that satisfies, I head upstairs to the kitchen. My room is located on the lower level of the house, next to the bathroom and (unfortunately) Walter's room. There was actually a crawl space connecting the two of our rooms at one point, but I blocked that up about a year ago when Walter tried using to sneak a fox into my room. I hate foxes.

When I arrive in the dining room, Walter is already eating his breakfast. My mom, Lilac, is sitting at the table as well with a cup of tea and a book. I amble into the kitchen and prepare some eggs and some baked flounder fillets for me. As I set a place up at the table for myself, my mom looks up and notices me for the first time. She sees me in my dress and her face warms up immediately.

"Oh, darling, Sheera, you look absolutely gorgeous!" she gushes. "Do you like the outfit?"

I smile back at her and say, "It's great, mom. Love it."

"Well good," she says. "I'm glad to hear it." She checks around the room like she's looking for somebody, then motions for me to lean in close. "Now, your father can't return it," she murmurs happily.

My dad, Gogol, is a stickler when it comes to money. He's so cheap, it's actually quite ridiculous. He's the owner of the biggest seafood restaurant chain in Four (because really, is there anything else to own if you're from Four?). He's even opened up a few restaurants in the Capitol. I haven't been to any of those locations; just the ones in the district, and each and every one of them just screams, "Cheapo!" The restrooms have a ten square limit on toilet paper. I found that out the hard way when I was seven. Instead of tips, there's a 25% gratuity fee at the end of every check. My first boyfriend learned _that _one the hard way. He even has the used toothpicks washed so they can be used over again. I always break my toothpicks. And, of course, the prices are completely unreasonable.

The timer on the stove buzzes, indicating that my breakfast is done. I scoop some eggs onto my plate along with a flounder fillet, then turn off the burner on the stove and sit down at the table. Mom looks back at the remaining fillet and eggs. "Sheera," she says, "You left some food at the stove."

"I know, Mom," I reply. "It's for Dad when he gets up."

Mom furrows her brow. "Okay, what do you want?" she asks.

"Nothing, I just thought Dad could use some breakfast," I say. That isn't true; I just thought I'd eat more food. Somehow I got less hungry within the few minutes it took to cook the food.

My mom continues to look at me skeptically for a few seconds, but soon returns to her book. Walter and I continue to eat our breakfast in silence. After a few minutes, I clear my place at the table and see that my dad still hasn't come to the table. I dump my dishes into the sink and walk to my parents' room on the second floor.

"Dad?" I call out. "You coming down?" I get a small, pained groan in response. Something doesn't feel right. I pause, then knock again. "Dad?" I call, a little louder this time. "You okay?" Again, the only response I hear is a small groan of pain.

I open the door and carefully enter my parents' bedroom. My dad is nowhere to be seen. "Dad?" I call out for the third time.

"In… here…" My dad's voice resounds feebly from within my parents' bathroom. "Sheera… are you-" he coughs painfully. "Are you there?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'm here," I respond. "Is anything wrong?"

"I… I fell down – ahh!" He winces in pain. "I fell – fell down in the shower. Help... help me... Sheera."

I quickly open the bathroom door. My father is lying on the floor of the shower, water still cascading down on him. He must've torn the shower curtain off its rings when he fell because the curtain is down as well. I begin to help my dad up, but he flinches when I touch him. "What is it, Dad?" I ask.

"My ribs," he says. "I think… I think I broke a couple-" He begins to cough violently, then clutches his ribs from the pain. "A couple ribs," he manages between coughs.

"Well, what do you want me to do, then?" I ask, afraid that I can't help him. My training for the Hunger Games didn't have anything to do with helping others. It was all sole-survivor based; how I can help myself survive, etc. I've never been in this sort of situation.

"Call-" he coughs violently again. "Call Lilac." He coughs more violently than before, and blood sprays from his mouth. Tiny droplets get onto my brand new dress, but it doesn't even register.

I race downstairs to where my mother and Walter are both ready to leave. "Sheera, honey, is your father ready yet?" she quizzes me. "The reapings start in a half an hour!" Walter looks at my dress and his eyes go wide.

"Sheera, you've got blood on your dress!"

"It's not mine, Walter, it's Dad's!" I say urgently. "He fell down in the shower, and a couple of his ribs might be broken. He was coughing so much that he sprayed blood all over my dress." I turn to my mother, who has a panic-stricken look on her face. "He told me to get you, Mom; hurry!" Mom quickly heads to my dad's aide without a word. Walter looks at me.

"What do we do, then?" he questions. I look at the clock. It's 7:40. The reapings start in twenty minutes; too early for us to stand around and wait. We arrive late at the reapings, and public humiliation for the entire family is guaranteed. Plus, I can't ignore the fact that this will be my last reaping. I've trained for this moment in time for nearly eight years, and I highly doubt my father would like it if I didn't volunteer because of a haphazard, last second accident.

"We head to the town square," I say. "We can't wait for them. We'd be late for the reapings. We need to go." My voice cracks. He nods slowly, and we go sullenly towards the town square. By the time we get there, the very last kids are filing into their appropriate sections. Walter quickly enters the seventeen-year-old section as I do the eighteen-year-old. As soon as I enter the section, the Capitol anthem begins to play. The mayor, Marlin Telgemeire, is followed out of the justice building by the district escort, Lupora Heavings, and the district's only Victor since the Revolt of the Mockingjay, Sobek Craditz. His god-mother was a past Victor from District Two, Enobaria something. Apparently he had the same nasty habit of biting his opponents as she did, so his parents (also Victors) made her his god-mother.

Once the anthem reaches its end, Mayor Telgemeire begins his speech. Everybody cranes their ears to listen. I've heard that this is unusual in other districts, but for us in District Four, Mayor Telgemeire's speeches are the best part of the Hunger Games. The reason for this: He writes a comedy routine. Instead of the dull history lesson given out by mayors' past, Telgemeire does his best to make sure that everyone pays attention to him, and the best way for him to accomplish this is to make it enjoyable for the audience, which he does. Every speech he's given has left me in stitches.

"..to see ol' Caesar's plastic face again this year. I wonder what theme he's going with this year. Plaid, maybe?" The usually somber mood at the reapings is never present during the mayor's speech. He continues to prod the Capitol and Caesar with tiny jokes until he hands the microphone over to the district escort, Lupora Heavings. Her fat jiggles as she walked, like an overstuffed water balloon. The skintight neon outfit she's wearing doesn't help much in dissolving the image, either.

"Hello, District Four! Happy Hunger Games!" A polite applause greets Lupora. District Four isn't as happy about the Hunger Games as Districts One and Two, but we still enjoy it more than most. "May the odds be ever in your favor, once again. Let's start with the girls." She giggles and heads over to the girls' bowl. My name is in there seven times; our family has no need for tesserae. "Hera Fletcher," Lupora shouts, and a tall girl, taller than me, starts towards the stage. I've seen her around the beach with her own private trainer enough to know that she'd be perfectly capable of winning the Hunger Games. There's only one problem. I am eighteen, so this is my last year to participate. Hera came out of the sixteen-year-old section. She can wait her turn.

Hera plants herself firmly next to Lupora. "Are there any volunteers for this lovely lady?" the district escort asks sweetly. I raise my hand high.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I yell with confidence. The other girls in my section part as I make my way to the center aisle. I saunter down to center stage, looking as seductive as possible. I flaunt my curves and flip my hair, entertaining the cameras as much as possible until finally, I swagger up the stairs and take the microphone from the district escort. "Sheera O'Sheesh, everyone. District Four's next Victor." Generous applause is the District's response. A few people cheer, and I hear a few wolf-whistles come out from the guys' section. I flash the cameras one last radiant smile before handing Lupora the microphone.

"Let's have one more round of applause for your latest volunteer tribute, Sheera!" She flourishes her meaty hand and the audience gives up its applause once again. "Oh yes, yes, very happy Hunger Games indeed!" she quips. "Now, onto the boys!" she bounds excitedly over to the boys' bowl and deftly plucks out a slip of paper.

"Alen Quailing!" she announces. A gangly boy from the fourteen-year-old section shuffles weakly onstage. I can tell immediately that this one will be of no help in the games whatsoever. The boy is skin and bones, practically. No doubt he'll be a bloodbath death if somebody doesn't volunteer for him.

"And shall there be any volunteers for Mr. Quailing, here?" Not a second goes by before two boys raise their hands and volunteer. One is a boy from the fifteen-year-old section, the other from the eighteen-year-old. They both emerge from their sections at the same time. The fifteen-year-old looks like a carbon copy of Alen, so he must be his older brother. How noble; an older sibling pulling an "Everdeen." The other boy, if they had come out of the same section, would easily be Alen's replacement. His skin is deeply tanned and his dark hair is buzz-cut. He's got piercing black eyes that I can see clearly from the stage. His body is ripped; I can't see any part of him that isn't muscle. Multiple scars are etched across his face. As much of a terrific ally this guy could be, I find myself afraid of him. Something just isn't right about the guy. He makes some of the burliest District Two tributes look scrawny.

The fifteen-year-old has a head start, but the other boy is much quicker. He catches up to Alen's double just as the two of them reach the foot of the stage. The smaller boy tries to step up onto the stage, but the older one grabs him by the collar and-

_Crack!_

The snap resounding from the smaller boy's neck could've easily reached the far ends of Panem. The entire district is silent; completely in shock. Everyone, that is, except for Alen Quailing. He stands there numbly for a few seconds, then bursts forth and sprints down the steps to his dead brother's side. Instantly, two Peacekeepers grab hold of him and pry Alen away from the cadaver. He kicks and screams with all his might, but the Peacekeepers don't budge.

A different pair of Peacekeepers tries to restrain the other volunteer, but it's almost like he was anticipating them. The first Peacekeeper comes at him from behind and grabs at the boy's arms, but the boy dropkicks the Peacekeeper and he topples back down the stairs. The second Peacekeeper comes at him from the front and bends down to pick him up. Before the Peacekeeper even lays a hand on him, however, the boy quickly thrusts his hand up towards the Peacekeeper's jaw. The Peacekeeper reels back, clutching his jaw and the boy follows him up the stage. He rams his knee into the Peacekeeper's bladder, causing him to double over, then jabs his elbow into his adversary's temple. The Peacekeeper crumples and the boy readies himself to take on more adversaries. The other Peacekeepers refuse to advance, so the boy relaxes after a few seconds. He walks powerfully over to Lupora, who stood dumbfounded the entire time, and takes the microphone from her.

"Xord Vesuvius," he states plainly. His voice is deep and as powerful as his attacks. He hands the microphone back to Lupora, who just stands there idly, staring at Xord with awe. After about twenty seconds she realizes that she's been, well, standing there for about twenty seconds. The district escort hastily recomposes herself.

"L-let's have a hand for District Four's tributes this year: Sheera O'Sheesh and Xord Vesuvius!"

Xord and I shake hands, or rather, his hand eats mine. Lupora lifts our hands in the air and Xord and I are greeted by two types of reactions. The district is divided as to whether or not they should clap. Some start to do so nervously, while others cheer like this is just another game. If I were in the audience, I honestly don't know what I'd do. Like many other residents of District Four, I enjoy watching the games each year. I love the carnage and the bloodlust of the Careers. But killing another volunteer just to get into the games?

Lupora leads Xord and I to the Justice Building along with seven Peacekeepers – two for me, and five for Xord. He smirks and glances momentarily at me. One of the five Peacekeepers guarding Xord looks at him skeptically, and, as if by a sixth sense, Xord turns around and glares at the Peacekeeper. The Peacekeeper starts and Xord chuckles maliciously.

I enter the visiting room and sit down on one of the nearby couches and my family immediately follows. Most of my family, anyway. My dad, Gogol, is absent. Oh, God, my dad. I completely forgot about him! A wave of guilt crashes into me with the force of a tsunami. Xord's stunt with the other volunteer and the two Peacekeepers made me completely forget that I had left my father in pain on the floor of the shower!

My mother and Walter sit on opposite sides of me. Mom pulls me in with her right arm, but the hug doesn't even register until she speaks. "Your father's fine, Sheera." It's like she can read my thoughts. "I called for the paramedics and they responded immediately. Don't worry about him, he's probably already being treated."

"So he's okay?" I ask. My dad might be a cheapskate, but he's still my dad. I care about my parents.

Walter clears his throat. "He's just fine, Sheera." He wraps his arms around me, sneakily placing his hand over my left breast. And that is where the care for my family runs dry. The three of us sit still in a group hug, and I get more annoyed with every second. My mom doesn't even see him; her eyes are closed as she lays her head on my shoulder.

"Mom?"

"Yes Sheera?" she asks without opening her eyes.

"Could you do me a favor before I leave?" She sits up and looks at me. She still doesn't see that Walter's hand is fondling me, even though it's literally right under her nose. Walter opens his eyes now.

"Well, yes Sheera, I could, but I don't know what I would do in such a small area of time."

"Oh, don't worry, it won't take long," I reassure her. "I just need to do one thing." Walter looks at me, confused.

"And that is?" My brother's eyes widen. He knows what my request will be.

"Look down."

My mother looks down to see Walter hastily pull his hand away from my chest.

"What were you doing, Walter?" my mom asks.

"N-nothing," he stammers.

"It certainly didn't look like nothing," she says, her eyes narrowing. "It looked like you were touching your sister inappropriately. That's what it looked like to me."

This is too delicious. My brother is finally being chewed out for being the pervert he is!

Mom is about to lay the hammer on him when two Peacekeepers come in and ruin my fun. As they drag my mom and my brother out of the room, my mom turns back towards me. "I'm sorry I never believed you, Sheera. I can guarantee you things will be different when you get home! We-" The last sentence is cut off when the Peacekeeper holding my mother shuts the door behind him.

When I get home. Yet another enormous happening in my life has been completely forgotten. In just a few short days, I will be heading into an arena with 23 other tributes, with just one being Xord. Even past him there are still 22 more.

My trainer, Bone, comes in next. His blond hair is tied back in a ponytail and covered up by a bandana. His eyes are hidden behind the shades he always wears, even inside because of his hyper-sensitive eyes.

"I'm gonna cut right to the chase, Sheer," Bone's the only one who calls me Sheer because he's the only one holds my respect. Anyone else would soon wind up a dead man. "You and I both saw what your district partner is capable of. He took down two Peacekeepers, no problem. That's dangerous. He also won't hesitate to kill in order to get his way, as I'm sure you noticed. I doubt the whole "no killing your district partner" thing is going to stick with him. If it comes down to you and him, which wouldn't be very surprising, get as far away as possible. Distance yourself from him, then hit him with projectiles. Got it?"

I nod. "Understood." He smiles at me, satisfied.

"Alright, that's what I wanted to hear," he says. My trainer takes my head in his hands and kisses my forehead. "Good luck in there, kid," he says dryly. With those final words, Bone leaves the room without even waiting for the Peacekeepers to take him out.

Numerous casual acquaintances come in to say their good-byes after Bone leaves. Some compliment my dress, some try to reassure me about Xord, and some just choose to sit there in silence with me.

My friend, Krady, is the last of my visitors. He makes a joke about my dress, I punch him in the arm. We laugh. We talk about the Capitol and what he thinks I should do there. Then we sit there until the Peacekeepers carry him away, too.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, a door opens on the other side of the room and two Peacekeepers march out. They escort me onto the train and I sit down on a nearby sofa. Xord enters through a separate door and, without even stopping to grab some food, immediately walks down the length of the car and steps inside a cubicle. This is fine with me; the less time I have to spend with that creep, the better.


	9. District Four: The Killing Machine

**Author's Notes: My sincere apologies go out to those of you reading this story for taking so long on this chapter. Hopefully the extra time I took to work on it paid off. I don't know exactly when the next chapter will be posted, most likely in May unless I have some sort of authorian surge and complete it all tonight (this is very doubtful). But anyway, thank you so much for sticking with _Severed Strings,_ and I hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

District Four Reapings: Xord Vesuvius

"Higher."

I comply with a grunt and lift the sandbag a few more feet off the ground. My uncle, Hampton, stares on as if nothing has changed. "Higher," he repeats. I pull on the rope again, raising the weighty bag even more. "Higher," he says. "Higher still. Don't stop pulling until I tell you to stop." I answer by lifting it as he says. Soon the sandbag reaches the pulley and I stop. My uncle glares at me. "I did not tell you to stop," he growls.

"There's nowhere for the sandbag to go, Uncle. I've pulled it as high as the ceiling."

My uncle looks at me with a sly smile. "There's always somewhere else for it to go, Xord. Pull." The sandbag is clearly not going to budge. Nevertheless, I obey my uncle and tug at the rope, but the sandbag just stays at the top of the ceiling by the pulley. My uncle frowns. "C'mon, boy, I said pull!" he barks. I pull harder. "Pull!" The bag jerks. "PULL!" Tiny cracks start to appear above the pulley. I look at my uncle and he just stares at me.

"Pull."

I pull the rope down as hard as I can and the sandbag comes crashing to the floor along with the pulley and chunks of the concrete ceiling.

My uncle smiles. "I'd say that's high enough." He walks up to the sandbag and lifts it up with one hand. "Alright. Onto combat." He tosses the sandbag at the wall and gets into a fighting stance as I ready myself.

Without warning, my uncle lashes out at me with an open hand. I block his attack and respond with a jab to his ribs. Before my hand can reach his body, however, my uncle's deflected hand comes back and chops at my own side. I feel it only slightly due to the intensive training I've had, but the blow still stings. Uncle Hampton grabs the hand going for his ribs and twists it, causing me to falter. He pushes my chest with his free hand and I fall down backwards. I go with the fall and roll out of range of my uncle's fists. He decides against charging me a second time and instead stalks off to his right. I mirror him, waiting for an opportunity to present itself. A moth gives me this opportunity by flying in front of my uncle's face. I advance upon my uncle as he tries to wave the moth away and swiftly deliver a kick to his abdomen before he can refocus his attention at me. He doubles over and I sweep his legs out from under him. I get down to his level and we wrestle until I've got him in a headlock.

Thwack! An elbow comes up and connects with my chin, catching me completely off-guard. My jaw snaps up and I bite my tongue. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth as I stumble away from my uncle, signaling for a timeout. He relaxes and stands up.

"What is it?" he demands, irritated. I spit a wad of blood and saliva onto the training mat in answer. He rolls his eyes. "Oh, what, did little Xordy bite his tongue?" he jeers. "Come on now, suck it up." I keep spitting. He rolls his eyes again. "Ok, fine, go get some ice or something." He bends down and picks up a water bottle. "And for Brent's sake, would you stop spitting on the mat?" he yells as I'm about to empty my mouth once again. I spit into a nearby garbage can instead. Jogging over to the table at the end of the room, I open the first aid kit sitting in the center and put a square of cotton on my tongue. My uncle walks over to me and rips open the package of an energy bar.

"I thought I told you to wear a mouthguard," he says before taking a bite of the energy bar. I grab a pen and paper from the kit without removing the pressure on my tongue and write _"I forgot."_ He sets down the energy bar and takes the note in his uncle looks at me in anger, then slaps the back of my head, causing me to spit out the bloody square of cotton, which lands directly on the energy bar. "What happens when you forget in the arena, huh? What happens when you forget that your opponent still breathes as you walk away and he's still got his last throwing knife? What then, Xord?"

"I can hear a cannon, uncle," I say. He looks at me, unimpressed.

"I'll be hearing your cannon in a week or two if you keep that attitude up." He walks over to the weapons rack and picks out half a dozen javelins. "Now, come at me!"

Uncle Hampton throws the first javelin and I duck just before it pierces my eye. It lodges itself in the wall behind me as I start to advance upon my adversary. Not a second after the first javelin hits the wall, my uncle launch a second and a third. I dive to the right to avoid both of the missiles and they sail past me and into the wall. I rise to my feet just as another javelin screams towards my face, but I catch it effortlessly just inches from my temple. My uncle launches the last two javelins at me, but I use the one I caught to deflect them.

I toss away the javelin I had been holding and tackle Uncle Hampton before he can reach for a different weapon. Soon, we find ourselves in the same situation as before. I've got him in a headlock again, but this time I see the elbow and block it with my left arm. Before my uncle can react, I grab his far ankle and hold him down so he can't move, then drive my head into his ribcage, knocking him on his side. He kicks his ankle free, but it's too late for him to do anything else. I press my entire body weight onto his chest with my own as I lift his head up with my right arm, pinning his back to the mat. He tries to squirm free, but I negate his every move, and, after a few seconds, he submits.

"Alright, Xord. I think you've proved your weight long enough. Now let me up," my uncle says dryly. I get off of him cautiously just in case he decides to launch a surprise attack. He doesn't do it often, so it's unlikely that he will, but nonetheless I am careful as I let him rise to his feet.

Uncle Hampton dusts his clothes off and turns towards me.

"Run."

Immediately, I take off through the door of my uncle's private underground training facility. At random times during random workouts, Uncle Hampton will simply say "Run" and I'll have to take off right away. He started having me do this exercise after I made it clear that I preferred stark hand-to-hand combat. The exercise's purpose is to prepare me for the unexpected, unbeatable foe. Drop everything and run. That's the plan. Don't concern yourself with the survival of others. Just concentrate on your own survival. Don't think about anything else except how you plan on avoiding death. Those statements have been pounded into my head since I started training here.

As I run away from my uncle's house in the Victor's Village, my thoughts turn to my very first day of training. We didn't do anything except watch my uncle's Victory in the Hunger Games.

_My uncle lived in the Victor's Village. His name: Hampton Vesuvius. His victory in the 58__th__ Hunger Games wasn't extraordinary. He only killed three tributes. The 58__th__ games were nonetheless unique, thanks to the Head Gamemaker at the time, Cor Grace. An arena as unique as that had never before been attempted. So many variables going against it, and yet, the 58__th__ games were decided as some of the most exciting in all of the past 87._

_The arena for the 58__th__ games was flat. Simply a white, open space. Nothing was present in the arena except for the tributes themselves. They were each given twelve food pellets and twelve water capsules that included the nutrients and water one would need for an entire day. These were the only supplies given to them, and sponsors couldn't send anything to help. It was purely the tributes._

_Naturally, they were confused at first. Most scattered off into different directions once they realized there was no Cornucopia, while some chose to fight each other for their pellets. My uncle was one of those who scattered._

_This game, above all else, required two things: strength and people skills. There was no stealth; the arena was lit constantly and the flat plain of white nothingness went on endlessly. The only ways to survive were to forcibly take another's pellets by killing the tribute in possession of them or to trick another into giving their pellets away. Unless you were my uncle, of course._

_My uncle chose neither path. He instead decided to run away from others as fast as he could. He knew that if he wasn't within arm's length of a person, he could not die. So he managed to do just that. For a while, anyway._

_Upon swallowing his ninth pellet and water capsule around day 27, my uncle realized that he would have to go after other tributes in order to survive. My uncle went around and sought out any single tribute he could find so he could take their pellets. By this time, though, starvation had taken everyone in the arena except my uncle, the Career alliance, and a couple others. My uncle went searching, anyway. Eventually, he discovered that the number of Careers left equaled the number of tributes from the outlying districts. There were four people left in the Career alliance: The girl from One, both from Two, and my uncle's district partner, Azalea Bitterling. The other three aside from my uncle were all on their own: the boy from Three, the girl from Nine, and the boy from Twelve. All three of these tributes were used to being hungry. They came from the poorest of families. My uncle found that if he were to eliminate the remaining three stragglers, he'd be the only one left against the Careers, making his chances of survival slim._

_So, he devised a plan._

_He went to the single tributes one at a time, offering a chance at survival. He was the fastest of the four, so if one tried to run, he would catch up to them and propose his offer again. Come with him and destroy the Career alliance, or die._

_The first one he went to was the boy from Three. He was a gangly kid around fifteen or sixteen, relatively tall, and pretty intelligent. His skin was dark and his hair even darker. His eyes were a muddy brown._

"_Three." My uncle clamped his hand around the boy's mouth so that he didn't shout and alert the Careers. Despite the completely flat plain, a person could hide from another if they traveled far enough. Sound travelled faster, though. Much harder to conceal._

"_I have a proposition for you, Three," my uncle murmured. "Join me in a fight against the Careers, or die." He lifted his hand from the boy's face. The boy turned to face Uncle Hampton._

"_Valence," the boy from Three says. "My name isn't 'Three', it's Valence. Julius Valence. And I'm listening."_

"_Have you seen the Career alliance recently?"_

_Julius shook his head. "I haven't seen them for days, but I know who's left, based on the tributes shown in the skies. There's still Rochelle, Apex, Amour, and Azalea." He paused. "The boy from Two is Apex, and the girls from One, Two, and Four are Rochelle, Amour and Azalea," he added after seeing my uncle's expression of misunderstanding. "My guess is that you came to me to start a gang of tributes in opposition to the Careers?"_

"…_Yes, that was my intent," my uncle said slowly. "With four stragglers left and four of them, the time to attack is now. If I had realized this earlier in the Games, I would have went searching much earlier. The only way any of us can survive this is if we fight and kill off the Careers."_

"_And what if we wait for them to run out of pellets?" asked Julius._

"_They come after those who have more and they kill them."_

"_Have you seen them do that?"_

_Uncle Hampton let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Let's just say that your district partner didn't die of starvation."_

"_I see…" Julius trailed off and looked away._

"_So are you in?" he turned back to Uncle Hampton. "The only way to overpower the Careers is if all four of us non-Careers agree to this. If one disagrees, we're outnumbered. So I ask you again. Are you in?" Julius sat there in silence for a few seconds until saying yes, then the two shook hands._

"_Do you know__ where Laria and Mackelroy are? They're the other two we'll have to convince."_

"_Which is which?"_

"_Jane Laria is the girl from Nine and Jason Mackelroy is the boy from Twelve," Julius supplied._

"_Then Laria is the closest to us right now if she hasn't moved. Mackelroy is the closest to the Careers, but he's farther away from us than Laria is. We're going to Mackelroy first because he's more likely to be captured and killed by the Careers than Laria."  
_

"_Alright then, let's go find Jason."_

"_Follow me."_

_The two didn't reach Jason Mackelroy for several hours. When they found him, he was sound asleep. The boy was just like most of the tributes from Twelve: grey eyes and olive skin, born in the Seam or something like that. He was tall, almost as tall as Julius. He had a beard from not shaving for a month, though then again, so did my uncle and Julius. It took hardly any time to convince Jason that they needed to go after the Careers. In fact, it took longer to wake the boy from his slumber than it did to convince him to join up. My uncle and Julius woke him up and the guy immediately said, "Take me with you!" They approved his request._

_Just as Julius was helping Jason to his feet so they could look for Jane, my uncle looked off into the distance to see a female figure walking towards them unsteadily. The girl's auburn hair hung over her eyes, making it impossible to tell what she was looking at. Her clothing was in tatters, like she'd walked through a whirlwind made of blades. Her shirt was ripped up, and her pant legs uneven. One, the right leg, cut off at the middle of her thigh, and the other reached down to the top of her kneecap._

_The strangest part of her outfit by far was that she was completely devoid of pockets. Each tribute's attire had front and back pockets on their pants. One cargo pocket adorned each side of their legs, as well as a single shirt pocket over the right breast. All of these seemed to be absent on the mystery girl's attire, thus revealing parts of her undergarments where the pockets should have been. This didn't seem to bother her as she made no attempt to cover herself. My uncle didn't recognize the figure, but Julius did._

"_It's Jane," he whispered. "She must have followed us. You said she was close, right?" he asked, turning to Uncle Hampton._

"_What's that she's carrying?" asked Jason, a perplexed look on his face. "It looks almost like a weapon."_

_Jane had a weapon of sorts. Clutched tightly in her left hand as she staggered towards my uncle's newly formed alliance was the jawbone of another tribute._

"_Should we go negotiate with her?" Jason asked. My uncle shook his head._

"_Look at the way she advances. I can see it in her eyes."_

"_You can see her eyes?" Jason asked jokingly. My uncle glared at him. "Right, sorry," he mumbled as he quickly looked at the floor. "You were saying?"_

"_I was saying that she's not going down without a fight."_

"_We should at least try to negotiate," said Julius. "Disarm her, subdue her, then give her the same offer you made me. If Jane has any sense left, she'll agree. I talked to her in training, and she's a smart one. Plus, she's got a weapon."_

"_A weapon we could easily take from her when she's dead," my uncle argued._

_Julius was about to throw another point back at Uncle Hampton when Jane suddenly let out a terrible screech, startling the three boys, and charged at Jason. The boy from Twelve yelled and tumbled backwards as Jane tackled his midsection. The two were wrestling before even hitting the plain white ground; Jane hitting and biting and Jason trying to defend against the jawbone. After Jane hit him with the jawbone for the umpteenth time, Jason yelled, "Help me!" breaking Julius and my uncle out of their stunned stupors. Together, Julius and my uncle pried Jane off of Jason, who by now was just curled up in a ball, covering his head and trying to avoid getting hit by the jawbone._

_Once lifted off of her first adversary, Jane turned and swung her weapon at Julius' head. It connected with his ear and he fell down, clutching the side of his head as blood sprang profusely from the place where Jane's weapon made its mark. She tried to jump on him, but my uncle held her in place. She swung her weapon in the same way she did when she attacked Julius, but my uncle was prepared for this and caught her by the wrist. My uncle squeezed her wrist until she dropped the weapon, which brought out a cry of pain from the female tribute from District Nine. This cry was quickly silenced by Uncle Hampton clamping down on her throat with his arm muscles._

_Jane tried her best to get out of the chokehold, kicking and scratching and biting, but to no avail; my uncle was much too strong. He flexed his biceps until she stopped resisting and slumped over in his arms. Uncle Hampton lay her down gently._

"_Is she dead?" Julius asked, clutching his ear warily._

_My uncle glared at the boy from District Three. "Did you hear a cannon go off?" he questioned harshly. Julius looked away, cowed. "She's unconscious," my uncle explained impatiently. "I can wake her up later, but for now, you need to staunch that ear up," he said, pointing to the boy's bleeding head._

"_Here, use this," said Jason weakly. He gripped his shirt and pulled. _Rrrrip! _He tore the garment until he was satisfied with the length of the strip of fabric he had, then he tossed it to Julius._

"_Thanks." Julius began wrapping the makeshift bandage around his head and my uncle went over to Jason._

"_How are you?" he asked._

"_A few nasty bruises and bite marks, but other than that, I'd say I'm fine," he replied. "I'm in no shape to handle a group of Careers, but I'd say I should be in about a half a day."_

"_A quick healer, are you?" my uncle asked in amusement. Jason chuckled dryly._

"_Yeah, I'd say so. I've got four more food pellets and three more water capsules left, by the way, so I won't have to worry that much. How many have you got?"_

"_I have three of each left," my uncle said plainly. "Valence has four of each. He told me as we searched for you."_

"_I see."_

_Uncle Hampton turned to Julius, who was examining Jane. "Valence!" he barked. "What are you doing?"_

"_Checking for more weapons," was the reply given. "You guys should see whose jawbone she tried to bludgeon us with. Come see!" he said, motioning with his hand for my uncle and Jason to come closer, which they did._

"_How would you know whose jawbone she has?" my uncle questioned, his tone doubtful._

"_Look at the teeth." Julius said. He pointed at the jawbone as it lay at his feet "There's something you should both see."_

_My uncle swiped up the jawbone and carefully examined the teeth. Among the many white teeth was a single bronze one, standing out like a sore thumb. He looked at Julius, who nodded, then hastily readjusted the bandage on his head to keep it from falling._

"_This is the jawbone of Prince Winnings," Julius said gravely._

"_The cocky kid from One?" asked Jason. "That prick who thought he was too good for the Career pack?"_

_Julius nodded. "The very same."_

_Uncle Hampton crossed his arms. "Jane must have been pretty driven if she was able to take down that one. The boy was a tank. He could have eaten a person like Jane for breakfast."_

"_But she couldn't have killed him herself, just look at her!" Julius protested. "Even with that attack she pulled on us, she still failed. Hampton took her out and he's smaller than Prince."_

_Jason, who had been silent during the discussion up until now, spoke next. "Didn't another tribute die the same day as Prince?"_

"_Well why don't we ask Jane then?" my uncle strode over to Jane's unconscious form._

"_I hope you know what you're doing…" Julius warned as my uncle knelt down next to Jane._

"_Mackelroy! Valence! I need you to secure her arms and legs. She could lash out when I wake her up, so be ready." Jason grabbed Jane's arms and Julius took hold of her legs. "You two ready?" They nodded. "Okay."_

_Uncle Hampton pressed two fingers up against Jane's neck, two against her heart, and pushed. Jane's eyes opened and her limbs flung up, but Jason and Julius managed to keep her down. My uncle grabbed her face and forced her to look at him._

"_Jane Laria." She turned her eyes away from my Uncle Hampton and struggled to release herself from her captors' grips, but Jason and Julius held fast to her limbs. Eventually, she gave up and looked at my uncle with a mix of fear and terrible rage in her radiant blue eyes._

"_The four of us are the only ones left in opposition to the Careers. If we band together against them, one of us might have a chance at winning these Games. Do you understand this?"_

_Jane didn't respond. She simply stared my uncle down. His face darkened. "You are going to answer me or I will crush your skull with the very hand that holds it now," he threatened. "Now, answer my question. Do you understand?"_

_She glared at my uncle for a good thirty seconds until finally nodding her head. My uncle softened his grip by a hair and sighed contently._

"_I am offering you a chance, Jane, to join this alliance against the Career pack. Together, we can conquer them. The four of us are capable of doing so, especially since you've so kindly brought a weapon to the table." Jane rolled her eyes. "You can accept this offer and scrounge up a chance of survival, or you can decide to dismiss it, a choice that would certainly lead to your death." My uncle released his hand from her mouth. Jane did nothing, knowing any attempt at escape was futile. "So as I said previously, what do you choose, Jane Laria of District Nine? Do you choose life, or do you choose death?"_

_Jane lay there, staring at my uncle, not saying a word. She stayed like this until Julius finally blurted out: "Would you just hit her already?" My uncle glared at the boy from Three and was about to retort when he heard Jane say that she'd made her decision._

_My uncle whirled his head around to look at Jane. "And that is?"_

_Jane stared at my Uncle Hampton with unwavering intensity in her eyes and said, "I choose life."_

"_Does this mean we can let her go now?" asked a tired Jason. "My back is killing right now."_

"_Let her go," my uncle said simply. Jason released his grip and lay down on his back as Julius stood up and got into a ready stance. Instead of springing up and tearing off, Jane got up slowly and dusted herself off._

"_You guys got some grip, you know that?" she said casually, as if they were all just a bunch of friends just hanging around. "That really smarts, y'know?" She flashed what was surely a trademark smile at the three boys standing dumbfounded at Jane's sudden change in attitude. Julius approached her cautiously._

"_Is this a trick, this sudden lax attitude?" He asked her carefully, treating her like a bomb that could explode at any second._

_Jane laughed at the boy's tenseness and smiled again. "No, it's not a trick. The whole crazy, 'I wanna eat your face' thing was the trick. That was to catch you guys off guard." She laughed again. "And boy, did it work! You should've seen the looks on your faces when I screamed at you that first time!" she said as she began to crack up. "Especially you!" she chuckled as she pointed at Jason. "Your eyes were huge! Like a frickin cow's!"_

"_I guess I'm confused," said Julius. "What was your intent in the whole attack?"_

_She laughed again. "To kill you, smarty!" She said this like she was explaining a simple math problem. "This is the Hunger Games! What'd you expect?"_

"_Whatever," Jason said dismissively. "Next question."_

"_You wanna know why my undies are hanging out all over the place?"_

_Caught off guard by Jane's answer, Jason stood there for a moment stuttering, but quickly recomposed himself. "Um, no…" he said slowly. "We were sort of wondering why you've got the jawbone of Prince Winnings."_

_Jane's face suddenly went dark. "I'm not going to talk about that." She looked away from the three boys. "Prince was the one who took my pockets. He was looking for my capsules and pellets. As to why I have his jawbone, that one I'm leaving to your imaginations."_

_My uncle stepped in front of Jane, who was beginning to walk away. "We need to know how you got this jawbone so we can learn how you fight."_

_Jane looked up at my uncle, who was a good eight inches taller than her, and stared him down. "Tough," she said. "You saw enough when I attacked you earlier."_

"_Hey, um, speaking of attack, you guys," Julius interrupted. "I'm no expert on war, but I'd say that looks an attack party off to our left." He pointed to a group of four little dots heading towards my uncle's newly formed alliance._

_Jason cursed under his breath. "Careers," he said hatefully. "We need more time!"_

"_Can you fight?" was my uncle's response._

_Jason looked startled, but nodded. My uncle smirked._

"_Then I'd say we've had all the time we needed."_

"_They've quickened their pace!" Julius said, frightened. "What do we do, Hampton?" The boy from Three turned to my uncle, fear clearly evident in his eyes._

"_I'll take Rochelle, the blonde-haired girl from One," he stated. He turned to his party of stragglers. "Mackelroy, you'll take on my District partner, Azalea. She's the one with black hair and pale skin. Mind her speed; she's quicker than she appears. Valence, you can take on Amour, the short girl from Two. She hides her insecurity by being aggressive, so you are to fight fire with fire. Don't let her intimidate you because it will only boost her confidence. Jane?"_

_Jane looked away from the advancing Career pack and faced my uncle. "Yeah?"_

"_You'll be taking on Apex. The kid is the shortest of the four. He's old for his height, though, at seventeen, so he's got experience. He also knows how to piss a person off, so try not to let him inside of your head. The other thing to note: he's a perverted little bastard. You probably already noticed this in the training facility, though, so I doubt I need to tell you more."_

_Jane nodded. "It's sort of tough not to notice a kid getting dragged off for groping the instructor."_

"_Exactly. Just brush that sort of stuff off and focus on ramming that jawbone into his temple."_

_A wild yell from the Careers caused the four members of my uncle's alliance to start. The Careers were almost upon them. To my uncle's surprise, Jane smiled her trademark smile._

"_Showtime, boys."_

_Julius and Jason looked uncertain, but my uncle just cracked his neck from side to side and got into a ready stance. "Does everyone have their target?" he asked. Jane, Jason, and Julius all nodded and looked towards the oncoming Career pack._

"_Let's go," said Julius calmly. It was my uncle's turn to nod. The four of them started towards the Career pack slowly, then built up speed, continuing to get faster and faster until-_

Bang! My thoughts are interrupted as pain shoots up my right leg and I go tumbling down towards the ground. I twist around so that the pain of impact is lessened, but cobblestones colliding with one's hip still create discomfort. I shake my head and stand up; looking behind me to find the offending object that so rudely derailed my train of thought. My eyes fall upon a garbage can with a knee-shaped dent on the side lying on the ground, its contents strewn all over the street. It looks as though the owner of the garbage can is absent, otherwise they would have come out and confronted me by now, so I decide to leave it as is and continue on my run.

_They continued to increase their speed until they were charging forward at full speed. Each team sped straight, waiting for the other to flinch, but neither did. My uncle ran headlong into Rochelle, tackling her with his shoulder. She fell down to the floor, but the impact shook my uncle as well. He stood above her for about a quarter of a second, then regained his bearings and flew down to take out his adversary. He slammed his knee into her diaphragm, expelling all air from her lungs. He quickly jabbed his fingers into a pressure point in her neck, making her cringe. He clasped his hands firmly around her neck as he sat squarely on her hips, preventing her from moving. She flailed her arms and legs, hoping to find a way out of my uncle's vice-grip, but it was to no avail._

_BOOM!_

_Rochelle's cannon sounded as she went still. My uncle quickly leapt to his feet and took note of the fights going on around him. All of his alliance members were still fighting._

_Julius struggled with Amour, the girl from Two, as they each tried to gain the upper hand. Julius was on the defensive as Amour tried to assert herself onto him, punching and kicking and taunting, but Julius deflected blow after blow._

_Jason was trying to get a hold of Azalea, but he was having no such luck. She kept dodging his swings over and over again, each time returning with a strike of her own. She chopped at the back of Jason's leg and he fell to one knee. She whirled around and punched him in the face, knocking him flat. My uncle started towards the pair when a taunt from Apex caught his ear._

"_One know one of your boobs is hanging out of your shirt, right, Nine?" said Apex, pointing to Jane's chest and snickering wickedly. "Whore. Bet you did that so you could win over this alliance," he taunted as he tried to sweep Jane's legs out from under her. She jumped up, avoiding his legs, and flipped her hair out of her eyes._

"_Bet you like that, don't you, Two?" she shot back. "How was your talk with the behavior specialist?" Apex's swagger turned to a snarl of hatred as he tackled Jane. Taken by surprise, Jane tumbled down to the floor._

_BOOM!_

_My uncle started and spun around to see who died. It was Jason Mackelroy, the boy from Twelve. My uncle's district partner stood over him, her victim's small intestine hanging there in her arms, her long, sharp fingernails dripping with gore. She stared at her arms in shock, unable to take in what she'd done._

_My uncle stood there in a stunned silence. Though he hadn't seen it, he knew what his district partner had done. She had confided in him what sh did to entertain the Gamemakers in her private training sessions the morning before launch. She had lined up three dummies in a row, on their backs, facing the Gamemakers, then proceeded to use her fingernails to dig through their synthetic flesh. The Gamemakers loved it, and as a result, she was the highest scoring tribute in the 58__th__ Hunger Games: Eleven. At the time, Azalea was excited to do the same to a tribute. Now that she'd finally been able to with Jason, it was evident by the look of shock on her face that it wasn't as she'd expected it to be._

_My uncle stood there in silence until a scream shook him back into the present. Julius had grabbed hold of Amour and held her hand behind her back. He pulled up and she squealed in pain. He kept pulling until a "_Pop!" _was heard, followed by a gut wrenching "_Crack!" _Amour fell to her knees and Julius punched her in the face. As blood started spurting from the girl's nose, she fell on her side and began to cry. Julius, a look of hatred covering his usually calm face, got down on his knees._

"_This is for Nora," he said, his voice full of pain and loathing, as his fist shot into Amour's face. She flinched, but didn't block the blow. Julius punched again and again, fist after fist, raining down on the girl from Two's face. Left, right, left, right. Over and over again, Julius flung his hands into her face. He started to scream as he punched, and soon, his screams of rage coincided with Amour's wails of pain. Finally, a cannon sounded off._

_BOOM!_

_Amour stopped screaming. Her face was a mass of blood and bruised flesh. Julius sat there next to her, panting heavily. His cradled his head in his hands, either not caring or not noticing that they were covered in blood. "I did it, Nora," he whispered softly. "I did it." He covered his face with his hands and sobbed into them._

_My uncle turned back to see the progress of the match between Jane and Apex, and he was pleased to see that it was going in the favor of Jane, who had just hooked Apex's ankle with Prince's jawbone. She pulled back, and Apex fell to the ground. Jane followed closely and soon had Apex under control. She sat on his hands and stretched his legs out to the sides as far as they went with her own. Apex grunted in pain, but managed a sneer as he lay there._

"_I've never really been one for the bottom, Nine," he said in a slippery tone. "What do you say we switch"? Jane pretended to consider this for a second, then shrugged and looked down at the boy from Two. _

"_Eh, I'll pass," she said nonchalantly. Then, without waiting for Apex's reply, she plunged the end of Prince's jawbone into the eye of her adversary. An unearthly howl of pain erupted from Apex's throat as Jane drove the jawbone deeper into his skull. She twisted it, causing Apex to cry out like a madman, then quickly took it out and shoved it into his other eye. Apex released one last, primal, animalistic howl of absolute torture, until another cannon sounded, signifying the boy's death._

_BOOM!_

_BOOM!_

_Jane and Uncle Hampton started at the sound of the second cannon. They both turned to see my uncle's district partner, Azalea, holding a bloody strip of cloth around Julius' neck. Apex's screams must have drowned out Julius' struggles because Azalea had managed to sneak over to Julius without anyone noticing and choke him with his own head bandage._

_Jane and my uncle exchanged a brief glance and then turned to face Azalea, but she had already started off and away from as fast as she could._

"_Hampton…" Jane started, but my uncle just ran. He ran straight for Azalea. He knew that she had Jason and Julius' supplies. He just knew it. He caught up to her after about a minute of sprinting. Despite her head start, Azalea was no match for my uncle's running ability._

_He tackled her and held her hands behind her back with his left while he held her hair in his right. She squirmed but could not escape my uncle's grasp. He squeezed his left hand, and Azalea winced in pain. Small snaps signified the breaking of her fingers. With each broken finger, she let out a yelp of pain. Soon, her hands were useless as my uncle broke the last of her fingers and let her stand up. He still held her by the hair. She was clearly in great amounts of pain, but she was trying to shove that pain down and look tough. "Hampton-" her sentence was cut short by my uncle's knee hitting her stomach. She tried to double over in pain, but he held her up, forcing her to remain open for another blow. My uncle gripped her hair at the base of her skull with his left hand, followed by his right. "Hampton, Amour didn't kill the boy from Three's partner. I didn't either. It was Apex. Please, don't-" My uncle brought his hands down as his lifted his knee up, and Azalea's skull was crushed against his kneecap cutting off her pleas. The sound of bones breaking and a cannon firing resounded through the arena as my uncle's knee hit his district partner squarely in the forehead._

_BOOM!_

"_For Mackelroy. And for Valence." My uncle said firmly as he let Azalea's corpse fall from his hands and onto the arena floor._

_My uncle ran back to Jane, who was sitting among the bloodstains left by the battle, staring into her hands. All the tributes' bodies had been taken away already. "There weren't any pellets left, Hampton," she said without looking at him. "Or water capsules. They we're all gone. Even Julius and Jason's. Your district partner must have taken them." She stood up and stared at my uncle. "You're the only one left with supplies, Hampton," she stated plainly. "I can't beat you in a fight. I can't outrun you. I can't outlast you. And I know you won't sacrifice your life for me. You're not that kind of person."_

_My uncle nodded. "You're right. I'm not. I plan on surviving this."_

"_I know." Jane walked steadily towards my uncle until they were only about two feet apart. "I just want to ask of you these two things."_

"_And those would be?"_

"_First, take these." She opened her hands and held out the contents for my uncle to see. Inside were seven different items. A ring, a silver necklace, Prince's bronze tooth, two strands of purple string, a rock, a gold watch, and a photograph. Jane put the items in my uncle's hands and he pulled out the photograph. It was picture of Rochelle and a smaller boy, most likely her brother. "District tokens." My uncle looked up at Jane. "These are the District tokens of the final eight, minus Azalea and you, of course. Plus, there's Prince's tooth," she said, pointing to the tooth. "There's Apex's gold watch, and Amour had the two pieces of string. I found the rock in Jason's pocket, and Julius had this ring around his little finger."_

_She took the necklace from my uncle's hand and held it up. It shimmered in the stark whiteness of the arena. "I got this from my cousin, Remy. I want you to keep these tokens, Hampton. All of them; not just the ones from our alliance. Just because Rochelle, Apex and Amour were Careers doesn't mean they weren't human. Keep them until the Victory Tour, okay?" My uncle nodded slowly._

"_And once I reach the Victory Tour?"_

"_If you can, give the tokens back to the families. Tell my cousin that this was the way it was meant to be. Can you do that for me, Hampton?" She looked at him with pleading eyes, and my uncle nodded again._

"_What is your second request?"_

_Jane took a step forward and leaned her head against my uncle's chest. "Make it quick, okay, Hampton?" she asked, a slight quiver of fear evident in her voice. My uncle swallowed hard, his stoic demeanor beginning to show some hairline cracks. With a hand that's broken bones and crushed tracheas, my uncle gently lifted Jane's chin up to look into her bright blue eyes that were fresh with tears just ready to spill forth, revealed as he softly pushed her hair back with the other hand._

"_You won't feel a thing, Jane," he whispered. Jane continued to look straight into my uncle's eyes until a single tear descended from her eye._

"_Okay."_

_My uncle nodded and closed his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Jane just as he did when they first fought not even an hour earlier, except this time, he held her gently against his chest. Tears were slowly starting to stream down Jane's face, but they stopped as soon as my uncle lowered her into an unconscious state. He lay Jane down on the floor of the arena tenderly, pressed two fingers against her temple, two against her neck, and pushed._

_BOOM!_

_Jane's cannon fired, and fanfare began to play._

"_Ladies and gentleman, it is my great pleasure to announce the winner of the 58__th__ Annual Hunger Games, Hampton Vesuvius of District Four!" Claudius Templesmith's voice rang out over the white expanse of the arena as a hovercraft appeared and a ladder dropped down. My uncle grabbed hold of the ladder with one hand, holding the district tokens tightly in his other._

When I asked Uncle Hampton whether or not he kept his promise to Jane Laria, he told me that he did. I didn't see my uncle's Victory Tour, but I explored his room when he was absent one day a few years ago just to see if he'd truly given back the tokens. I found nothing.

I stop at the edge of a dock. One more step and I'd be in the water. I turn around and assess my surroundings. Judging by the deteriorating buildings, I'd say I'm on the Southern outskirts of town, somewhere where the rebels from a few years ago invaded. The buildings close to the water are riddled with bullet holes and broken windows. It was a dark time I remember clearly. I was taken into my uncle's bunker under his house once the rebels made it to the Victors' Village. They raided all the houses. The Victors that wouldn't join with the rebels were executed.

Except for my uncle. He took me, my father, my mother and my siblings, Durrell and Zirma, into his bunker and we waited the whole ordeal out. When we got out, we were informed that my uncle was the last one left. All the other Victors had been killed. The only one to agree to the cause was the Victor of the 46th Games, Roberto Muñoz. I heard that he was later executed along with the other Victors who turned against the Capitol.

I peer down at my watch and see that I have thirty minutes to eat, dress, and be in the town square. Despite the run I just went on, I still have the energy to sprint all the way to my house. Without pausing to greet my parents I quickly make my way to the bathroom where I discard my training clothes and step into the shower. I come out four minutes later then get my reaping clothes from my room: a jet black tuxedo. Being a Victor, my uncle is able to buy things some people would have to save a lifetime. I throw it on and drape my untied bowtie over my massive shoulders, then head downstairs and grab two energy bars from a nearby cupboard. As I sit down at the table, my mother, Imperia, enters the kitchen.

"Hello, Xord," she says warmly. "I trust your training with your uncle went well?"

"Yes, Mom." I turn around to look at my mother. "Could you tie this for me?" I ask, pointing to the bowtie.

"Of course, Xord." I lift my head to allow my mother to take care of the bowtie when I notice the time on the stove clock. 7:46. The reapings start in fourteen minutes.

"Are you done with the bowtie, Mom?" I ask. Her hands fall away from my neck and she nods, which I see through the mirror below the clock. I give my mother a quick smile and thank her. "Tell Dad I left for the reapings," I say as I hurry out the door.

Walking briskly to the town square, I arrive with four minutes to spare. I stride up to the Peacekeeper watching over the eighteen-year-olds, Verm Gustner. I know the names of every Peacekeeper in Four, and they know mine. From time to time, my uncle takes me to their building on the west end of the district to spar. Verm is one of the older officers. His scraggly grey beard hangs out below his helmet so I can distinguish him from other Peacekeepers. Aside from this, I can't recognize any of the others. My uncle can, though, but he's been hanging around these guys for years. I'm pretty sure that if he hadn't volunteered for the Hunger Games, my uncle would have trained to become a Peacekeeper.

"Hello, Verm." Verm nods to me in response.

"Name," he says methodically. I roll my eyes.

"Verm, you know my name."

"Standard procedure, kid. Sorry."

I roll my eyes again. "My name is Xord Veh-su-vi-us." I say my name slowly, enunciating every syllable. If I could see through the old Peacekeeper's helmet, I'd have sworn it was his turn to roll the eyes. Anyone else who smarted off to the Peacekeepers would get smacked in the face, but I know these guys. They're the only people in District Four with my respect. Other than my uncle, of course.

I place myself as close to the stage as I can, right on the edge of the center aisle, just as the fanfare starts. Mayor Telgemeire walks out with the always overweight district escort, Lupora Heavings. Her innumerable rolls of fat strain at her skin-tight outfit, threatening to burst forth like a decorator bag a baker filled with too much frosting.

Following close behind her is District Four's only Victor since the rebellion, Sobek Craditz. It's embarrassing, really. Twelve years pass since the rebellion dies, and District Four only gets one Victor. It's probably because the old Victors aren't allowed to mentor the new tributes. I'm sure that if my uncle were to mentor the tributes, District Four would have many more Victors. But of course, we have to have a paranoid president. I find Locius Brent to be a great ruler, don't get me wrong, but prohibiting the old Victors from mentoring? How are we supposed to give the Capitol a good show (and give me legitimate opponents) if the old Victors can't mentor?

Mayor Telgemeire gives his speech, to which I pay no attention. While most of District Four enjoys the mayor's little comedy routine, I for one am disgusted by his mockery. The Hunger Games are supposed to be treated with respect, in my opinion. A comedy routine just shows the lack of seriousness our mayor has. Thankfully, this routine is short, and before long, the mayor hands the microphone over to Lupora.

"Hello, District Four! Happy Hunger Games!" she pipes. "May the odds be ever in your favor, once again. Let's start with the girls." She bubbled with happiness as she trotted over to the girl's bowl. One of the thousands of slips in that bowl held the name of my adversary in these Games. It doesn't matter who gets called up as the male tribute. I am volunteering.

"Hera Fletcher," she announces. A girl from the sixteen-year-old section makes her way confidently to the stage. I can tell by her toned muscles that she'll be a valuable ally. "Are there any volunteers for this lovely lady?" asks the district escort. To my surprise, there are.

"I volunteer as tribute!" A girl with long, black hair raises her hand high and saunters up to the stage. This is unusual. Hera seemed perfectly capable of winning these Games (assuming that I don't volunteer). But then again, this volunteer probably had the same mindset as I do. Hera is sixteen, and the girl that volunteered for her came from the eighteen-year-olds. Hera still has two years to go.

The girl that volunteered takes the microphone from Lupora and holds it to her lips. "Sheera O'Sheesh, everyone," she says seductively. "District Four's next Victor." I cross my arms and chuckle. We'll see about that.

Lupora claps giddily. "Oh yes, yes, very happy Hunger Games indeed! Now, onto the boys!" she scoots over to the boys' bowl and takes a slip from the top of the pile. "Alen Quailing," she shouts. A small boy aged fourteen steps meekly out of his section and inches his way up to Lupora. The boy isn't even trying to play brave. He's absolutely terrified. He's not even playing the Johanna Mason card. I can tell from his build; the boy has barely any flesh clinging to his bones. My arms fall to my sides and I find myself clasping and unclasping my hands in anticipation of Lupora's next words.

"And shall there be any volunteers for Mr. Quailing, here?" My hand goes up and I start sprinting to the stage. Ahead of me is a single boy coming out of the fifteen-year-old section. I'm upon him in seconds. Just as he reaches the steps of the stage, I grab the back of his collar and pull him back. I feel nothing as I snap his neck.

I calmly walk up the steps in the silence the district has enveloped itself in when suddenly Alen Quailing screams and tries to run down the stage. His way is blocked by two Peacekeepers, though, and they take him away. As the frail boy gets carted off, I notice two male Peacekeepers about to detain me, one from behind and one from the stage. The Peacekeeper coming at me from behind tries to grab my arms, but I pull them away and jump into the air. I turn my body parallel to the ground and throw both my legs into the Peacekeeper's chest. As my first assailant falls, the second comes at me from the stage steps and tries to get me in a bear hug. Before he can, however, I strike at his chin with a palm strike, sending him back up the stage. I burst up the steps and launch my left knee into the Peacekeeper's abdomen, causing him to double over in pain. Then I follow up by slamming his temple with my elbow, knocking him to his stomach. The Peacekeeper lay still; unconscious. The blow was much too small for me to kill him.

I ready myself, waiting for more to come and avenge their fallen comrade, but they stand still, refusing to budge. I smirk and assert myself over to Lupora, whose mouth is opening and closing like a freshly caught fish. She is absolutely shocked by my actions no doubt. Just about everyone in the district is. The only people I can see who aren't are Sobek, who's standing next to the mayor with his signature crocodile grin, and my uncle, who I see back in the parents' section, is rubbing the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. At this, I am befuddled. Wouldn't my trainer be delighted to see me show my power? Surely this reaping will strike fear into the heart of every tribute in these Games.

Tired of waiting for the escort to snap out of it, I take the microphone and say my name.

"Xord Vesuvius." I hand the microphone back to Lupora, but she just stands there like the most important thing in the world right now is to see how much she can stare at my face. The silence in the district turns from shock the awkwardness every second the district escort stands there, gaping at me. Of course, I don't mind. If she wants to make impressions of a yawning hippopotamus on national television, that's perfectly acceptable.

Eventually, she realizes just how long she's been standing there and coughs nervously into the microphone. "L-let's have a hand for District Four's tributes this year: Sheera O'Sheesh and Xord Vesuvius!" she stutters, and the people of District Four nervously begin to clap as the anthem hastily starts playing.

Lupora has Sheera and I shake hands, and I can tell just by the way she quakes in her dress that she is terrified of me. She knows that I've got her beat, and this is true; I've seen her training on the beach. I'd be a fool not to observe my possible competition. While she might be more difficult to defeat than the girl she volunteered for, I know that I can best her. Her strategy is to seduce and destroy. That much was obvious the moment she entered the center aisle. It was wise of her to train herself to fight, though, I'll give her that.

Lupora heads off towards the Justice Building, the usual ditzy spring back in her step. Sheera and I begin walking right behind her, closely accompanied by a posse of Peacekeepers. Two of them stay close to Sheera, but the rest crowd around me like they're protecting a nuclear bomb. How cute. Just for fun, I quickly turn around and glare at one of the Peacekeepers in the back. Just my luck, the guy is already looking at me, so he jumps. A chuckle escapes my mouth, and on the exterior, I am a swaggering powerhouse. On the interior, I'm reprimanding myself.

_Come on, Xord! _I scold_. You need to have a serious persona. Stick with it!_

Sheera is led down a hallway to the left as I get led down another. The Peacekeepers bring me into a plain room dotted with little couches and chairs, then quickly exit through the door we came in from. I laugh again. The Peacekeepers know me. They know that I am perfectly capable of whipping every single one of them, and because of this, I am untouchable.

I take a seat in a green recliner and lean back. Placing my arms on the armrests, I close my eyes and wait for my first visitor. Entire minutes pass by before I hear the door creak open. "What took you so long," say without opening my eyes.

"Your little stunt of your sort of backed things up a bit," was the reply. I open my eyes to see my uncle walking towards me, a furious scowl firmly etched on his face. "You're in for it, Xord. You know that, right? You broke three of Hefner's ribs when you dropkicked him. And Sewall? I wouldn't be surprised if you ruptured one of his kidneys with that blasted knee of yours. Assault on a Peacekeeper is a federal offense, boy!" he shouts. "If you weren't going into the Hunger Games right now, you'd be in for a public execution. Plus, and I bet you haven't thought about this, what did you think was going to happen to you once you got out of that arena, if they even let you out!" My uncle clasps his hands behind his head and sighs deeply. "I will be very surprised, now, if you don't become the victim of a Gamemaker's trap. The president will not take kindly to your actions. That's the stuff of rebellion, it's what it is. You're lucky you killed that other kid on the way up. Hopefully that'll be enough to prove that you're just a guy itching to kill something. It's when you get labeled as a rebel that you get into some real hot water. Or fire. Need I remind you of Katniss Everdeen?"

I roll my eyes. "You don't. Besides, Uncle, I don't think I'll be shooting anyone with a bow and arrow anytime soon. You know as well as I do that bows have been banned from the Games ever since the Revolt of the Mockingjay. So unless I start distributing handmade bows to my fellow tributes or climb the claw in the hovercraft that picks up dead bodies so I can give Capitolite scum a piece of my mind, I don't think you'll have to worry about me."

He grunts disapprovingly. "Don't get smart with me, Xord. You know that if you keep getting into these little bouts with authority, especially at the Capitol, President Brent is going to have the Gamemakers unleash their wrath on you." I begin to throw a retort at him to dispel his warning, but he holds a finger up and shakes his head. "Never underestimate the Gamemakers, boy. There was a lad about sixty some years ago who died during the bloodbath. Seems normal enough, lots of kids die in the bloodbath, right? Well, this kid was a special case as far as bloodbath deaths go, and you know how weird those can get. This kid died because the Gamemakers blew him up. Pumped his body full on explosives, raining little droplets of teenager all over the other tributes. You know why they did that?"

I shrug and Uncle Hampton lets out another sigh. "They did it because the year before, one tribute went absolutely bonkers. Said some stuff about the Capitol most people wouldn't dare to do. The reason being? Well, I just told you. You mouth off, a kid blows up. You start a rebellion, it ends badly for you and worse for everyone else when you lose."

Before my uncle can continue any further into his lecture, two Peacekeepers open the door and start towards him. He quickly reaches into one of the pockets of his jacket and pulls out a small black bag. He tosses it to me just before the Peacekeepers grab his arms. "It's your district token, kid! Don't open it until you reach the arena; that's of critical importance, you hear me?" I nod in response, but my uncle turns his head back and forth to look at the two Peacekeepers dragging him away, so he doesn't see. "Bernie! Veero! Would you – guys, get off me! I can walk just fine!" The two Peacekeepers let go of my uncle, dropping him to the floor. He gets up and dusts off his jacket, then glares at the Peacekeeper to his left, Veero. "You could've waited until I was actually on my feet," he snaps. Veero simply shrugs and motions for my uncle to go through the doorway. "Yeah, yeah, I know my way out." And with that, my uncle exits the room.

Bernie closes the door behind him, and I am left in an empty room with nothing but my thoughts and the ominous little bag in my hands to keep me company. I shake the bag a little, hold it up to the light, but nothing gives me insight as to what's inside. The temptation to look inside is extreme, but I tuck the bag away in a pocket as the door opens. Coming through the door is a face that I haven't seen in a very long time: my old girlfriend, Jesamin Cistren, in a floral pattern dress. Her amber hair is much shorter than I remember, with her bangs covering up one eye. Her curves have developed significantly since I saw last, which was probably about four years ago. We had been dating for almost a year when we broke it off. We knew that we were holding each other back when we did. I was getting distracted from my training, and she from her academics. It was time to move on, and I'm glad it's gone well. There are many relationships that end messily, but thankfully ours was not one of them. We simply decided that time apart was what we needed. I honestly wouldn't have been surprised if we were to get back together after I win the Hunger Games.

"Jesamin," I say plainly. "I can't say I was expecting this."

"I can't say I was either, Xord," she says quietly.

"What, my volunteering?" Jesamin smiles and rolls her eyes, then comes over to sit down on a nearby couch.

"No, Xord, I knew you were going to volunteer. The only mystery about this year's reaping for me was who the girl was going to be. No, when I'm talking about surprises, I'm talking about my being here."

"Did you not have control over your legs as you walked in the door?" I ask. "How can you be confused about your being here unless somebody dragged you here in a burlap sack and dumped you out in front of the door?"

"Nobody dumped me out of a sack, Xord," she answers, annoyed. "I'm surprised that I'm even here because I wasn't intending on seeing you in the first place."

"…So why did you come to see me off then?" She looks away from me and stares at a spot on the floor. "If it's because you still have feelings for me, that wouldn't be surprising; based on your mannerisms and obvious discomfort, anyway." My former girlfriend glares at me.

"That isn't why I'm here, Xord!" she exclaims. "I'm here in place of your family, who's a bit tied up with the press because of the kid you just killed and the Peacekeepers you just took out! Right now they're getting swarmed by cameramen and Capitol news reporters, hoping to get some insight on why you killed that kid!"

I shrug nonchalantly. "I wanted to get up the steps before he did." Jesamin puts a hand to her forehead.

"Yeah, I know that. I know you, and I know that that's why you'd do something like that. Something you fail to realize, though, is that not everybody knows Xord Vesuvius' inner workings. We're not all experts on your brain, you know." She sighs and looks at me. "Xord the reason I'm here is because your family sent me here to give you some... support." She pauses before saying 'support', which tells me that my family might not have had the most positive reactions.

"Alright then," I say slowly, "What did they have to say?" She gestures for me to sit next to me on the small couch. When I give her an apprehensive look, she rolls her eyes once again.

"It's weird talking to you from so far away." Her version of 'far away' is a few feet to me, but I ignore the technicality and take a seat next to my former girlfriend. My affection for Jesamin had never really ceased, and seeing her four years later in such a more womanly figure definitely rekindles it. I'd be distressed for sure if she were to be chosen for the Hunger Games. "So who would you like to hear from first?" she asks.

"What did my father have to say about all this?" Jesamin's eyes fall sadly into her lap.

"Your dad is angry at you, Xord. He wanted me to tell you that." She pauses, then peers back up at me. "He wants you to know that what you did was a 'truly boneheaded move, and that you should expect a stern reprimanding' when you get home."

I chuckle and look her in the eye. "Was that verbatim?"

She smiles. "Some of it."

"So what about the rest of my family?"

"Well, your mom just wanted you to know that she loves you no matter how many people you kill, your sister was scared to death, and your brother wanted me to tell you how awesome he thought it was when you took out those Peacekeepers."

"Doesn't sound like anything out of the ordinary."

It's Jesamin's turn to laugh. "Nope, it doesn't seem like it."

"Hmm." She and I stare into each other's eyes for a few seconds, and then another question comes to mind. "How do you feel about this, Jesamin?"

She opens her mouth to give a reply, but at that moment two Peacekeepers barge in. Jesamin looks at them, then back at me, and before they can reach us on our little couch, she kisses me. We kiss until her lips are wrenched from mine as the two Peacekeepers begin to drag her away. I fight the urge to attack them, take Jesamin back, and continue, but I know that that would only cause further conflict.

"I'll be waiting for you!" she calls over her shoulder.

"I take it this means we're back together? I reply. She laughs warmly as she gets ushered out of the room and I am left alone until a couple of Peacekeepers come in through a different door. One of them tells me to stand up, to which I reply, "No more visitors?"

"None. Come with us or be forcibly removed from the area," was the stony response. I nod, showing my compliance, and head towards the door the Peacekeepers came from, not waiting for them to catch up.

I step through the doorway and onto the train. My district partner is already onboard, reclining on the sofa. I am tempted to sit down on a couch opposite her and get acquainted, but I remember my angle for the Games and decide against it. I must portray myself as an emotionless killing machine if I am to truly strike fear into the hearts of my adversaries. So instead of sitting down, I walk briskly to the right. I know from watching Hunger Games past that the tribute cubicles are always on the right of the entrance, so I know that I am not making a fool of myself when I come across a hallway with nothing in it. Finally, as I keep walking, I see a small marker on the wall that says "District Four Male". I press my finger up against the plaque and hear a click, followed by a hissing noise, like a door opening on a hovercraft. A doorway reveals itself to me as the plaque (along with the section of wall it's on) slides off to the right. I enter the room and the door slides shut behind me, leaving me alone once again.


End file.
